


Jack Off / Jakku

by maenad9



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Betrayal, Bisexual Ben Solo, Bisexual Rey Because Why Not, Competitors to Lovers to Business Partners, Expose!, F/M, He's Her Boss!, Identity Reveal, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Inception, Morning Wood, New York City, Redemption, Reylo - Freeform, Rich Ben Solo, Sex Toys, Vibrators, eating pastries, fuck industrial capitalism, reylo au, there will be sex soon i promise, they build sex toys with circuit boards of course they hate sand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maenad9/pseuds/maenad9
Summary: Rey scrapes a living designing luxury sex toys. When Kylo Ren, the faceless CEO of her biggest competitor, offers her a job at First Order and a killer paycheck, she reluctantly accepts— but only so that she can investigate rumors of dangerous factory conditions. Too late, she realizes Kylo Ren is none other than Ben Solo, the sweet, nerdy businessman for whom she’s already falling. She’ll have to make a choice: expose Ben and sink his company into oblivion, or convince him to take her hand and walk the path of redemption. All without giving up on her own dreams of love, sex, and success...Rated E for future fuckery.
Relationships: Finn & Rey & Rose Tico, Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Poe Dameron/Paige Tico, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 33
Kudos: 88





	1. Sex Shop Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> CW: sex toys (not in use), stranger danger (w/o danger)
> 
> I'm still learning to link images, so here's a moodboard to start you off: https://twitter.com/maenad9AO3/status/1261689715767619585

It’s business as usual for the _Rebelle_ pop-up until the tall, dark, and handsome man shows up. Backlit by sunbeams slotting between tall buildings, he’s cast in shadow— a circumstance that only adds to the air of mystery about him. Not to mention, sophistication…

Charcoal suit, cut as fine as they come. Light overcoat, in case of a late spring shower. Long, tussled hair the color of midnight or a raven’s feather, as glossy and layered as the latter. A proud nose paired with a wide mouth, his eyes like twin black holes. A strong jawline and cheekbones to match, sharp enough for girl to cut herself while kissing his clean-shaven cheek. Lastly, lashes so long and lush that Rey could count them from a half block away.

Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But he’s an exquisite specimen, nevertheless, striding down the sidewalk with a slight swagger to his step, as if he owns that strip of cement— and everything, every _one_ on it.

Five long fingers secure a sleek metal thermos in one hand, while three others loop loosely through the leather handle of a briefcase; he’s obviously on his way to work. Only, Rey’s never seen him here before— meaning this is his first time making the commute.

New job? No, he doesn’t look nervous enough for it. Car service on strike? He certainly reads rich enough to rely on one. Or perhaps the explanation is more commonplace than she initially assumed— quite simply, he could have stopped taking the subway, starting today. The weather’s warm enough for walking, now that March’s winds have blown themselves away. Who needs more incentive to escape the crowded, fetid underground? What’s more, it’s a weekday— Washington Square Park and the surrounding streets are relatively empty of hungover university students. Otherwise known as Rey’s loyal customer base…

Whatever the reason, Rey’s glad this stranger has decided against public transit or a cab today. His _fuck-me_ face is a welcome distraction on a morning as slow as this one. Sullivan Street was as sleepy as she was until this beacon of male beauty brightened her day.

A little stunned by the strength of her reaction to the stranger but unashamed of her instantaneous attraction, Rey keeps one eye on the tall drink of water while she straightens up the products in her vertical display— literally, albeit pointlessly, as many of the dildos are deliberately crooked. (All the better to fit the customer’s body…)

But after a fiddling with a novelty cock ring for a minute or two, Rey gets bored. She abandons all pretense and resumes gawking at the passing gentleman. Dressed like that, he can’t be anything less…

He’s within a few feet of her, now, so she can hardly avoid seeing him without awkwardly averting her gaze. And it isn’t like she’s going to get a typical college-aged customer at 8:05, anyway— her pop-up will survive for a few seconds while she gives this masterpiece of masculinity her undivided attention.

The inhabitants of lower Manhattan are looking for coffee, not cum, at this hour. (Rey, at the moment, the one raging exception…) And her little stall lacks caffeination aside from her thermos of Scottish Breakfast— milk, no sugar. Of course, if you ask Rey, five minutes alone with any one of her devices is enough to wake a person _up_. But not because her designs hold any risk of electric shock! Nope, they just do their jobs right.

Unlike Rey, right now. (Cue: eye roll.)

The thought of city-dwellers getting off in order to get up puts a smile on Rey’s face, and she pulls a pencil from behind her ear in order to scribble down a new display idea. Giving in to her enthusiasm, Rey’s attention slips momentarily from the man in the designer suit— just as said stranger slows his pace, turning abruptly to walk in the direction of her pop-up.

“Good morning.” His voice is as deep as the Mariana Trench, and Rey feels herself blow as hot as an ocean vent. She slowly replaces the pencil behind her ear and, mustering all her commercial courage, raises her head to meet his gaze— a shocking smolder, for the hour. Who eyefucks this early, anyway?

“Good morning!” She echoes, her well-practiced salesperson smile preempted by a genuine expression of exhilarated interest. He inhales, nostrils flaring, at the cheery sound of her voice— or maybe it’s her sunny demeanor? Rey chalks it up to a combination of surprise at her perkiness, given the hour, and pleasure at seeing a pretty young thing beaming up at him.

She knows she’s pretty enough to catch a stranger’s eye— confidence hasn’t always been Rey’s strong suit, but it’s grown since she abandoned that dump in South London for her dream job across the Atlantic. That doesn’t mean doubt’s a non-issue, however, and after a second’s silence Rey’s smile wilts and she bites her lip in uncertainty.

The subtle flavor of her lipgloss is soothing in its sugary familiarity, and she chances a closer look at this stranger. She decides his tastes probably run in the direction of supermodels and socialites. Men who look and dress like that don’t date dirt poor former mechanics.

Shuttering her expectations but not her self-confidence, she waits for him to say something more. Express interest, perhaps, if not in her than in her store?

“It most certainly is…” he murmurs at last, hooded eyes tracing the lines of her torso. He may not date riffraff, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t down for an anonymous fuck— the hungry spark in his stare communicates that well enough.

Rey shivers under the intensity of his gaze, but his attention isn’t uncomfortable, per se. She’s used to dealing with creeps and cretin, but this man isn’t either of those— about that she feels confident, for reasons she can’t begin to articulate or even fathom. It’s just a feeling she has, some instinct or other.

“Can I help you with anything in particular?”

Her words come out breathier than intended, and Rey winces at the way an innocuous and utterly mundane question now sounds innuendo-laden, like some illicit invitation.

She straightens her name tag nervously and forces herself to smile blandly, impersonally— as if he were any other customer. Someone to whom she feels no incessant tug of physical attraction, no bone-deep draw or spine-tingling sensual appeal.

After all, Rey reminds herself with a hidden pinch to the skin under the hem of her sundress, sales are more important than sex. Rey requires a regular customer more than she wants a onetime lover. And even more than either of those things, she needs an investor.

Taking in the tailored simplicity of this man’s suit, the surely-precious stones embedded in his watch-face, the nonchalant confidence with which he strode— no, swaggered— down the street… Observing all that and more about him, Rey can’t help but hope and wonder if this stranger could be the answer: her dream investor.

Because she can’t keep relying on Organa grants and small business loans to keep herself afloat. She needs financial backing, substantial support— so she can hire a team, open a storefront, expand her online presence, afford advertising outside of just _RESISTANCE_ magazine (the latter is currently free because a friend works in the art department, but it isn’t really bringing in revenue), et cetera.

The right investor would help her check every box on that list. And maybe a few more, if she’s very good…

Rey tries to keep her expectations realistic, but she’s a dreamer to her core. Hope springs eternal in her heart, always has. Which is why she makes the split second, ill-advised decision to change her smile back from bland to buoyant, let her posture relax into an inviting pose instead of professional poker-up-the-ass. He might have approached her pop-up with a single purchase in mind, but he’ll leave it with a desire to do more than just buy.

“Actually,” he answers, listening to her new body language, “I was hoping you’d give me a tour.”

Rey’s heart skips a beat. “Of the shopfront? There isn’t much to see…”

_Bloody hell, is he asking for an assignation, at this hour?_

The stranger shakes his head, then smirks. “I doubt I’d fit.”

 _Is he talking about his dick?!_ No, you idiot, he’s talking about all seven foot fifty of him. The pop-up’s tiny, even she has to squeeze in. But the fact of that smirk… _Oh god, he knows exactly where her thoughts went._ He wanted them to go there— that was no accident.

Or maybe it was? Christ. At this point, Rey is begging her hormone-addled brain to get a grip. “I’m sorry— I haven’t had my tea yet.” She gestures hopelessly at the thermos beside the register. It’s covered in stickers, places to which she can’t begin to afford a plane ticket. But still, she dreams. “When you said you wanted a tour… did you mean the products on display?”

He smiles, a secret thing. “Those, and anything else you have in store.” The man pauses, choosing his words with care. “You see, I’m something of a fan. An admirer, of your work.” One large hand sweeps in the general direction of the glass-fronted displays and she’s mesmerized by his long fingers.

 _No ring,_ a voice in the back of her head whispers, soft as a snake in the grass slithers.

“As such, I’m eager to be educated further by the woman behind the curtain— or, rather, the case.” He smiles indulgently at his quiet pun, but Rey’s too starstruck to mirror him— as would be the polite, salesperson-y thing to do. Despite her best efforts, Rey continues to be stunned.

_Is he seriously seducing her, or is that simply the way he speaks…?_

Either way, it’s working. She feels hot all over— and damp, down there. A wholly inappropriate reaction to the person and proximity of a potential investor! She chastises her body thoroughly, pinching her thigh again in punishment.

Promising herself she’ll be professional from here on out, Rey inhales deeply. She’s trusting the faint, foul smell of a nearby dumpster to dispel some of the moment’s eroticism. Her strategy backfires immediately, of course: instead of Soho sewer, she gets a whiff of whatever cologne the stranger’s wearing.

He smells like midnight and moonlight, smoke with a whisper of spice. It’s a warm day, and he’s been walking, so his cologne has mingled with his natural scent. A subtle musk, a sheen of sweat, the mystery that is _man_.

 _Bloody hell._ Rey clenches her thighs close together, her desperate movement hidden by the display and counter. She exhales slowly, trying to calm her body— before it lands her a lover and loses her a customer.

 _You can’t afford to fuck him_ , she reminds herself, yet again. Rey closes her eyes for a second, visualizing the small tower of bills currently stacked on her kitchen counter. Harsh, but it helps her regain control of herself. Unlike anything else she’s tried up until now. _Getting some isn’t conducive to getting out of debt._

She swallows, trying not to smell him again. “I’d be happy to show you around, so to speak. Are you interested in any item or collection in particular?”

“All of them.” His voice drags slow like molasses, darkly rich and deep.

Rey’s brain feels like it’s been _dipped_ in molasses, for all its current clarity and speed. She stumbles over her next sentence, struggling to restore to her demeanor some semblance of professionalism. “Right, then we’ll start with my basic collection— simple yet sophisticated; as affordable as they are fun.”

She slips into her usual sales pitch, thanking the stars for two years’ practice. It’s like going on autopilot, allowing her at last to get that elusive inner grip.

“ _Sexcessories_ comprises six toys, sold together at a discount or separately as stand-alone products. As is the case with almost everything in my shop, each toy was designed and constructed by yours truly.” She allows herself a smug half-smirk.

He interrupts, his tone suspicious. “You’re telling me you built this— made all of these toys— by yourself?”

Rey nearly pinches the freckled bridge of her nose. She’s used to skepticism, mockery, _begrudging_ acceptance of the truth— she just doesn’t have the patience to put up with any of the above. Not from _him_ , the dreamboat-slash-dream-investor lounging across the counter.

She sucks in her breath, shoves down that seductive scent, and forces a smile instead. “Yep! I can’t currently afford to outsource labor and my ethical standards are such that I won’t rely on sweatshops. Unlike _some_ of my competitors…” she adds under her breath.

Her blunt honesty shuts him up, and he has the decency to look abashed in addition to impressed. At the same time, she sees a flicker of satisfaction in his coal-black eyes… Is he— is he _toying_ with her? Does he _enjoy_ seeing her all hot and bothered, emphasis on the _bothered_?

Whatever. Rey has a job to do, and she isn’t about to give in to instinct or this irritatingly tall and inhumanely attractive man. Yeah, that’s right. His beauty isn’t just inhuman, it’s _inhumane_. Unlike her production process!

“Now, where were we?” The question is practiced, rhetorical, meant to fill the awkward silence until the prospective customer forgets it ever occurred. Although she hesitates to use the usual tricks on him, for reasons she doesn’t want to address.

“Ah! _Sexcessories._ Always in stock, these are a touch above the basics— an upgrade on your usual starter kit. Made from ethically-sourced, body-safe materials, all toys in the _Sexcessories_ line are splash-proof, while most are fully submergible. Both the instructions and the outer packaging include not just a guide for ease of use but also all pertinent safety information.”

Rey smiles, directs the man’s attention to the glass display case built into the counter, and indicates each item she names with a flex of her index finger. “ _Call Me, Baby_ is a classic silicon cock ring, while its counterpart, _Pop The Question_ , is lined with a dual motor vibrator. Rechargeable, of course— all _Rebelle_ toys are battery free.”

“Impressive,” he murmurs, and that low voice is like a finger crooked, beckoning her closer. Instead of leaning across the countertop to kiss him, Rey continues with her so-called “tour.”

“Next up, we have two vibrators: the _Chapstick_ , a whisper-quiet compact that’s perfect for your pocket; and the _Lipstick_ , a hard plastic, full size toy that produces both buzz and rumble vibrations. In both, intensity is determined by a twist-base for easy access. Like their namesakes!”

“Inventive… But how does one switch vibration settings with a twist-base?” His question is fair, and his interruption indicative of interest not distrust like before. So Rey smiles and lifts the _Lipstick_ tester out of the now-open case to demonstrate.

“There’s a button here, at the center of the base,” she says, clicking it twice so he can see. “It’s a trick of the wiring, just a little something I invented. And have recently submitted an application to patent.” It’s less of a brag, more of a warning. Not that she thinks he’s a competitor, out to steal her success, but a business woman can never be _too_ careful… Before he can press her for further design details, she pushes on.

“Now, note that neither of these designs features a flared base, meaning neither is safe for for anal penetration.” She pauses, fishing blindly in the case below her for another product, eventually producing a blunt, tapered toy with a wide base. “But never fear— this beginner-size plug, otherwise known as _Where’s My Charger?_ is intended for anal use.”

He laughs, a low chuckle, and she thrills at the sound. His amusement is honest, earnest. “You have a knack for naming things,” he says at last, “I adore the overarching theme— especially that last pun.”

Rey beams. “Well then you’ll love the final toy in this collection— my _Keychain Kegels_! Although I don’t recommend you store them there…”

This time, their laughter is shared. Simultaneous, natural, easy. It’s like the sun has come out on a rainy day, bringing with it a warmth that fills Rey’s belly, and a brightness that sends sparkles down her spine.

She likes this guy. A lot. He’s an attentive listener, earnest and engaged. He’s sexy _and_ sweet, and he thinks she’s clever— really clever, judging by the gleam of admiration in his eye. 

Well, if he thinks her basics are cute, just wait until he sees her space cowboy toys— a collection that flies in the face of copyright infringement and sells out the second it’s in stock. (NYU students aren’t just horny— they’re _nerdy_.) Rey’s capitalizing on the recent reboot of a sci-fi classic, and she’s not ashamed to admit it, as a lifelong fan herself.

Just then, the stranger checks his watch— subtly. Rey only catches the movement because of the way the sunlight fractures when it hits the rubies embedded in his watch-face, in place of lines or numerals. They’re jagged, giving off the impression that they’ve been broken rather than cut; they shine rather than sparkle, and although they’re unclouded, each one is raw, unpolished— everything he’s not. In contrast to its ornament, the face of his watch is an expanse of fathomless black— probably polished onyx, as sleek and shiny as a certain sci-fi villain’s mask.

The effect is jarring, yet alluring. What kind of man wears a watch like that? Surely it’s one of a kind… Which means this man’s not just well-off, he’s _rich_. Posh. Privileged. Powerful. And there’s something dark, an undercurrent about him… Rey feels suddenly out of her depth. She drags her eyes from his watch to his face, even as his gaze returns to hers.

“Everything alright… Rey?”

And the way he says her name— like he’s stealing her soul, marking her for his own. It’s on obvious display, thanks to the cute little pin attached to her chest, but that fact does nothing to lessen the effect. Spiced smoke curls around the edges of her world. For second she forgets about the existence of other people. For a heartbeat, she forgets how to breathe.

_She’s in deep._

“Y-yes! Of course. Never better!” She smiles, hopelessly flustered, and smooths her skirts in an effort to soothe her nerves. Rey hopes she isn’t blushing, as well as stammering… 

He grins, and her heart stops for real.

_Fuck._

He’s handsome when he’s brooding, lost in thought as he strides down a city street; he’s _hot_ when he’s grinning, hands in his pockets, his whole self at ease. Rey’s falling hard and fast for him, and she doesn’t even know his _name_.

Evidently taking pity on her, or perhaps just genuinely interested in her other wares, the fairytale creature across the counter asks her about her other collections. She runs through _Animal Kingdom_ with him real quick, emphasizing how the need for greater inclusivity in the sex toy industry has shaped her design process as well as her gender-neutral branding. Sure, her shop runs femme— if Rey's shop can hold that identity the way that she can— but that doesn’t mean her products aren’t for everyone.

He inquires about suppliers, the manufacturing process, her online presence. If Rey didn’t know any better, she’d think he was actually looking to invest! Either that, or he’s a competitor— but what competitor would take precious time out of his day to talk her up, to flirt with her, to compliment her work?

Besides, no one looking to steal Rey’s customers would need to go to such lengths to disarm her. Business has been slow for weeks now, and it doesn’t help that her website is a disorganized disaster. Her competitors don’t need to poach her customers— they can welcome them with open arms (AKA, a creative ad campaign and the discounts she can’t afford to offer).

Rey’s thoughts were taking a dark turn and the stranger must have seen it on her face, because he stops her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. I’m just … curious.” He smiles, looking adorably abashed. “It’s my third greatest weakness.”

She smiles reassuringly in reply— how could she not, when faced with that goofy, toothy grin, so out of place on your average, arrogant businessman? She’s dying to find out what his second and first greatest weaknesses are, but she knows it would be rude to ask.

“I don’t mind. Although I’d love to show you our Star Wars collection, if you have the time…” She gives him an out, in case he’s not a nerd. It’s a long shot, she knows, but she’s got a good feeling about him.

The man’s grin transforms into a shy, secret smirk. “How did you just guess my second greatest weakness?”

Rey laughs, the sound as bright as sunbeams bouncing off the Hudson only a few blocks away. “A hunch…”

(Meanwhile... _He's a nerd!_ screams the voice in the back of her head. _A sexy, successful,_ shameless _Star Wars fan. Dream investor? More like dream man...)_

“By all means, Rey, go ahead. Take me to a galaxy far, far away.”

“Well…” She smiles coyly up at him. “That _is_ the collection’s catchphrase and product guarantee!”

“Oh that’s _good_ ,” he murmurs, his admiration evident— but the corners of his mouth turn down abruptly. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time today.” He glances up from his watch again, his gaze softly apologetic and decidedly deflated. “Meeting in ten, I’m afraid.”

Rey pouts, breaking all pretense of professionalism. She doesn’t want him to go, not so soon! It’s only been… oh, wow, almost forty minutes. He’s been listening to her talk about sex toys for nearly three quarters of an hour. Either the man’s an enthusiast, or his interest… well, it’s not in what’s being sold, but in who’s doing the selling.

Rey nearly giggles at the realization, but her giddiness is checked by painful memories and she sobers in the face of reality.

Men who take her seriously, men who don’t make fun of her chosen profession, men like _him_ don’t come around too often. They don’t come around at all. Not as customers, not as investors, not as lovers.

(Not that the latter is what she’s looking for, at this exact moment. No, Rey’s perfectly happy flying solo, she reminds herself. What girl with a collection of self-made sex toys in every shape and size _wouldn’t_ be?)

Which is why Rey’s so struck by this elegant behemoth, with his three thousand dollar suit and cover-of-a-bodice-ripper haircut, just looming over her curbside counter for the past forty minutes like he’s got nothing better to do than ask her about her toys.

He’s larger than life— quite literally taller than her pop-up, and broader than the counter-top display. He takes up almost her entire field of vision, just by standing. This sweet, soft-spoken stranger blots out the sun for her; only a beam or two splinter his shadow, falling on the register and her tea, respectively.

“I have to go, now,” he confirms in that coffee-rich voice, so dark and smooth she wants to do dirty things at his command…

She swallows a sigh, folding her arms over her chest. _Wrong move._ The rough cotton cambric of her sundress rubs against her nipples and they perk up, instantly alert. _Not now…_ Rey doesn’t need to be turned on anymore, not by a stranger on the eve of his departure. She might never see him again!

“That’s a pity. I hope you’ll stop by the next time you decide to walk to work.” She tries not to sound too pathetic, too needy.

He says nothing for a moment, merely turns, surveying the sidewalk to either side of him. She catches a glimpse of adorably large ears, tucked beneath luscious black locks that curl and tuft. “It’s not an unpleasant stretch of street.” He faces her again, flashing that winning grin. “Maybe I’ll make this my morning routine.”

 _Maybe I’ll make_ you _my morning routine_ , is the whisper hiding under the words Rey heard.

“Don’t fret,” he murmurs, leaning across the counter to tuck a loose hair behind the pencil. _Bloody hell_. The graze of his fingertips against the shell of her ear is enough to render Rey wobbly and wordless. “You’ll see me again. Soon.”

He turns and starts to walk away, taking the pavement in long, graceful strides. It hurts Rey, this rending of the two of them, this involuntary act of cleaving.

He doesn’t look back, and she doesn’t look away until long after he’s turned the corner. _It’s not the first time she’s watched someone leave._


	2. Rosie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a teaser

It takes Rey a full five minutes to recover from the stranger’s departure, and it’ll take her at least week to get over their entire encounter.

But as soon as she resurfaces from wild fantasies (of his wide mouth, slotting gently over hers; of his strong arms, muscles rippling beneath the fine white fabric of his shirt; of his thick and throbbing cock, twitching beneath her tentative touch…) she pulls out her phone to text her best friend. Just a confession— getting it off her chest, so she can focus— and then back to work.


	3. Join Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey receives a mysterious email, mere hours after meeting a mysterious man. Coincidence?

Nine hours later, Rey packs up the pop-up. Having shuttered the front and double-locked the door, she wearily starts her trek home. The sidewalk’s not crowded, so she takes out her phone for a moment to check her messages. Maybe Finn’s gotten back to her about his dinner plans. She’s already sated herself on a savory crepe from the hole in the wall across the way, but her roommate might want to cook...

And that’s when she sees it. The email. Sent several hours earlier.

Staring at the screen, standing still as a statue on the corner of Mulberry, she stops breathing altogether for the second time that day.

Yesterday was banal, bland by comparison. She’d woken up, gone to work, sold some toys, strolled home. The day before was mundane, mostly spent sketching and making silicon moulds in the studio she’d set up in the basement of her building. But today… today, she’s had two of the most inexplicable and significant shocks of her life. (Since she moved to America, at least.)

The first— the man— she knows will be important, although she doesn’t know how or why. Maybe it’s the promise he made, the ominous yet seductive suggestion that they’d see each other again. Maybe it’s the way he made her feel— like a sex toy savant, like a woman in bloom, like the only person that mattered, the sun that lights his sky. _Makes_ her feel— because she’s still smiling, nine hours later.

The second, however… This is different. Weirder, by far. Worse, without a shadow of a doubt. The funny thing, though, is the feeling unfurling inside her. Rey has the strangest sense, intuition or some baser instinct, that the two events are connected.

There is no evidence, not a clue to convince her. Just a knot in her heart, a tug at her core. A feeling— nothing less, nothing more. And the echo of his words.

Her heart aflutter and her thoughts running circles around each other, Rey hurries home: to the open arms and occasionally good advice of her two oldest friends in this city.

* * *

May 4th, 3:33 PM

From: [Ren@FirstOrderEmpire.com](mailto:Ren@FirstOrderEnterprises.com)

To: [Rey@RebelleToys.com](mailto:Rey@RebelleToys.com)

Subject: **Join Me**

Dear Ms. Niima,

I hope this email finds you well.

Recently your craftsmanship has come to my attention. After careful consideration, as well as some discreet investigation, it is my pleasure to offer you a position here, at _First Order_. Our fully-staffed factory in Brooklyn renders your services as a manufacturer unnecessary, and a talent such as yours would surely be wasted on the assembly line, anyway. However, I hope you will accept the highly sought after position of Head of Product Design.

While you lack the managerial experience we typically expect when hiring a departmental director, you more than make up for the aforementioned deficit with your intelligence, creativity, and tenacity. As such, I have decided to forego the formal interview that is a customary part of the hiring process. If you are interested in joining me, and the rest of the team here at _First Order,_ simply contact me as soon as possible so that we can set up a time to meet and discuss your contract and compensation.

Please, take your time in considering this position. Be aware, however, that our interest in you is sincere and our admiration for your work will be reflected in your base salary, not including quarterly bonus.

Yours, etc.

Kylo Ren

**Kylo Ren**

**CEO, Founder:**

**_First Order_ **

**_"Order_ First _, Come First."_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned as i organize/edit the next full chapter :)


	4. Gossip While It's Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Finn gather round for some goss, fresh off the grill. 
> 
> The first interrogation scene in this fic, but not the last-- and not the sexiest. ;)

Paige Tico is closing up shop when Rey rushes past, looking flustered. She calls out to her baby sister, who’s in the back wiping down the oven racks.

“Kid, you’d better head upstairs…”

“But I haven’t finished the range—”

“Rey needs you, Rose. I’ll finish up by myself tonight.” When she sees her sister hesitate, she smiles. Such a thoughtful kid. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do! Poe’s out of town on assignment until tomorrow. Now, go!”

Paige neglects to mention that she and Poe are on the rocks again— that’s a secret, at least until he’s returns to the office tomorrow. She swears, she’s never met a person more prone to gossip…

Unaware of her sister’s frustrated musings, Rose’s frown relaxes into a grin. She unties her apron strings and tosses the flour-caked cloth in the direction of the hamper before blowing Paige a kiss and disappearing up the back staircase. It’s high time for some quality gossip…

The Ticos co-own a bakery on a busy corner in Little Italy. They inherited the whole building from their late grandparents, who had practically raised them running errands for the shop. It’s a beat up old tenement, three stories high with a basement they let Rey use as a workspace. The first floor houses the bakery, naturally; the sisters share the second; and Rey and her friend, Finn, split the rent on the third.

It isn’t Park Avenue, but it’s warm in the winter and there’s running water— two things Rey didn’t always have, growing up in the attic of a car repair in Jakku. Besides, Rey gets to live with her two best friends, three floors above her studio, and every morning she scores a free croissant, fresh out of the aforementioned oven.

The only substantial downside to living with the Ticos is that the walls of her bedroom are too thin for her to test out some of her toys. Although, if anything, that drawback has been Rey’s greatest motivator. Her latest line is whisper quiet— so silent that Finn has walked in on her twice, thus necessitating the installation of a lock on her bedroom door. (When Rey’s given over the pleasure of her newest vibrator, she can’t hear him knock…)

Finn isn’t home yet, but shortly after Rey bursts into her apartment, breathless from the third floor walk-up, their mutual best friend taps on the door frame.

“It’s me! Can I come in?”

Rey hadn’t bothered to close the door behind her, so it’s a moot question. She spins on her sneaker’s heel, thanking the stars for Rose’s timing. She needs someone to slow her mind’s spiraling.

“I was just about to text you! How did you know I was here?”

“Paige and I were closing up shop and she saw you run by— said you looked flustered. Are you alright?” Her round face is pinched with concern, a small furrow forming between her brows. “It’s not because of that guy, is it? Because if he hurt you, I swear to God, I’ll track him down and—”

“ _No,_ ” Rey sighs, loud enough to drown out Rose’s (very real) threat, “It wasn’t that guy. And he would never deliberately hurt me.” She doesn’t know how she knows it, but it’s the truth. The stranger from this morning would never hurt her— not knowingly, at least.

“Whew!” Rose’s expression alters dramatically. “Because I really am rooting for you two, you know. Married by the end of the month!”

Rey laughs at her friend’s ridiculous suggestion. Rose is Rey’s number one fan and cheerleader, lucky her. Still, when Rey next speaks her tone twists into something bitter. “He didn’t leave me a name, Rose, much less a number.”

“Whatevs,” Rose waves her hand blithely as if to bat Rey’s bitterness away. “He’ll be back, babe. Who wouldn’t be?”

Rey shifts on her feet, a reluctant smile turning the corners of her mouth. Her words are a near whisper. “Thanks, Rosie.”

“You can thank me by texting me tomorrow. In detail!”

“Tomorrow?”

Rose looks at Rey with a mix of exasperation and pity. “When he shows up at your shop, silly!” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Honestly, it’s like you share a single braincell with Mr. Tall-Dark-Handsome-Forgot-To-Give-You-His-Phone-Number.”

“Hey!” Rey laughs, torn between amusement at the dirty pun her friend managed to slip in and the desire to defend her mystery man from Rose’s slander. “He seemed smart!”

“Smart enough to stop by your shop, I’ll give him that,” answers Rose, drily.

“But not smart enough to stay...” Rey’s smile fades, her friend’s words inadvertently bringing to surface memories of the others who’d walked away. Her hot stranger is just the latest in a long line— and he isn’t even _hers_ , so she has no right to complain.

Rose picks up on the shift in mood immediately. “Hang on, you said the angst _wasn’t_ about that guy.”

“It’s not!” Not really, anyway. Although Rey’s mood and mind wilt to black when she thinks about the fact that he didn’t turn back. “He’s not why I’m all—”

“Feral? Frenzied? Up in your _feelz_?”

“Those are three very different things, of which I am none, thank you very much!”

“Tell that to your hair, honey.”

“I— that doesn’t even make sense?”

Rose just raises her eyebrows. “What’s going on, babe? Why are you all wild looking? _What happened between you and that man?”_ Her lips purse and she turns her cute-as-a-button nose up towards the crack in the ceiling. “You still haven’t elaborated on those text messages, you tease!”

Rey blushes at the implication that something did in fact happen, as if she hasn’t been imagining just that all day…

But ‘wild looking?’ Seriously? Whatever. Rey’s hair can’t be _that_ messy. Although… it was pretty windy on the walk home. She pats her buns, self-consciously checking to see if they’re intact. And they are. Sort of. She sighs and lets her hand drop to her side. “Let’s wait till Finn gets home, that way I don’t have to tell it twice?”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m gonna text him and tell him to hurry his ass up! I want the goss while it’s hot!!” She whips out a phone in a rhinestone-studded case. “Especially since there’s obviously more to discuss than just what I’ll be wearing to your wedding…”

Rey shakes her head at her friend’s astute observation, that there are in fact two issues at stake. She shucks her sand-colored sneakers without untying the laces and tosses them over to the shoe rack beneath the coat stand. It’s chilly, now that the sun’s set, so she ducks into her bedroom for a jumper— navy, cable knit. It doesn’t exactly “work” with her sundress, but so be it. It’s not like that man’s here to see her…

The thought, intrusive and unexpected, rattles her. She imagines him here, inside her home, standing where Rose texts on the threshold. She wants to welcome him in, take his hand and tug. She shivers at the ghost of him, tall and gorgeous, in her living room. The ceiling might be a tad low for his taste… Rey giggles, the professional and ethical quandary that is The Email temporarily forgotten.

Rose’s head perks up at the sound. “Are you laughing at my texting-face again?” She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

Rey smothers her smile but blushes, like she’s been caught in the act— the act of what? Mooning over some mystery man? _(Yes.)_ “It’s not always about you, you know.”

Rose pulls an expression of mock outrage. “Is too!”

Rey can’t help but chuckle. “Has Finn gotten back to you yet?”

“He’s at Trader Joe’s. Adulting.” Rose rolls her eyes.

“Tell him that I’ll pick up his groceries when I get mine tomorrow— he can Venmo me.”

Rose nods, thumbs moving with lightning speed across the screen. “Okay, okay. He’s on his way.” Rose puts her phone down on the counter and closes the apartment door behind her. “Now spill. What were you just giggling about, for real?”

“I wasn’t giggling!”

“You sounded like a little girl with a big crush.” She pauses, realization dawning. “Oh my gosh. You were thinking about _him!_ ”

Rey twists her fingers between each other and chews at her bottom lip. “Yes,” she confesses in an embarrassed whisper, flushing from head to toe. No, seriously, there’s a hole in her sock and her big toe seems pinker than usual. She stifles a groan.

Looking more militant than ever, Rose grabs a handful of Rey’s jumper and marches her over to the couch. Rey stumbles along behind her much shorter friend, secretly glad Rose knows when to push her for information. Left to her own devices, Rey might just… isolate.

“Spill,” Rose repeats, more forcefully, once they’ve fallen into their respective seats. “You can’t clam up about a man you called, and I quote, your ‘future husband.’”

Rey wriggles out of her best friend’s iron grip— folding pastry must _really_ be an upper body workout— only to find herself cornered between an increasingly impatient Rose and the hard armrest of the pull-out couch.

“I thought we were waiting for Finn!”

“Fuck Finn! He’s the one who chose grocery shopping over gossip.”

“ _Ro-ose,”_ Rey drags out the syllables in a desperate whine. “You said I could wait!”

She’s suddenly panicking at the prospect of talking about _him_ , in case she reveals how deep her feelings really go for this man— this stranger, sent from heaven…

He’s hot as silicon straight from the oven, cool as the ice bath into which she tosses fresh moulds. She could get lost in his eyes, dark and infinite like the midnight sky— minus the city’s never-ending neon shine. Rey remembers the way his voice rumbled, rich and low, inducing a stronger response than any vibrator she’s ever sold…

Lost in her reverie, her aroused musings and imaginings, she forgets about her friend, her apartment, everything. Until the heavy thud of the bolt in the door brings her down from heaven.

“FINN! _Finally_. Rey’s met her future husband!!!” Rose is up and off the sofa in a second.

Rey adjusts herself before standing up, embarrassed by the dew that has begun to gather between her legs. She can’t even think about this guy without getting turned on— how the hell is she supposed to talk about him in front of her friends? Still, a promise is a promise and she needs to tell someone. Better her besties than an inanimate Ewok plushie.

“Oh,” Rey utters in lieu of a greeting. “You got your groceries after all.”

Rose is already shoving cold items into the fridge, helter-skelter. Her efforts to speed things along, so their gossip session can commence, are foiled by Finn, however, who takes his time rearranging the cartons and boxes. He’s not one for chaos, at least not in his kitchen.

“Yeah, my basket was full and the line wasn’t long, so I figured you two wouldn’t mind waiting a minute more.”

Rey and Rose speak at the same time, in response.

“Not at all.”

“We minded very much!”

Folding the reusable bag and storing it beneath the sink, Finn shakes his head at Rose’s rude retort. “I’m gonna put some water on for tortellini, if either of you wants some.”

“Yum!” Rose rubs her hands together eagerly, but Rey politely declines. She’s still full from that savory crepe she scarfed down before locking up the shop.

Finn takes Rose’s order, switching out the pot in his hand for a larger one then filling that at the tap. After setting the black basin on the stovetop and lighting the ring of fire, he shrugs out of his leather jacket and hangs it on a hook by the door. It’s his coworker’s, actually, or at least it was. Apparently Poe wanted him to have it after they made headlines with a human-trafficking story together, and now Finn won’t part with it.

Usually, on seeing the tenderness with which he treats the worn garment, she’d tease Finn about his unrequited crush. But now that she has one of her own, she’s strangely reluctant to make fun— and jealous, if she’s being honest, about not having a heartfelt hand-me-down to hold…

Having finished up in the kitchenette for the minute, Finn turns to face Rey. Rose pops up behind him, almost a third shorter but no less intimidating. They look at her with equally expectant expressions. “Soooo…?”

“My sentiments exactly!” Rose skirts around Finn, retracing her path to the living room like a predator hunting prey. “Are you going to tell us what happened or not?” She demands, dropping back down on the thrifted couch. Finn follows her with a slightly more sedate step, joining Rose on the sofa. The two stare up at Rey, their eyes bright and hungry.

Rey groans, feeling like she’s taken the stand. Her expression softening for a second, Rose extends a single hand. Rey takes it only to find herself tugged once more to the sofa’s edge. She tumbles onto the worn green velvet between her two best friends.

“You’re not on trial, Reyby.” Finn must sense Rey’s agitation, because he uses her old nickname as a sign of reassurance and a reminder that she’s safe here, however cornered she might feel. “We’re just curious.”

Rey smiles appreciatively at Finn, and squeezes Rose’s delicately inked fingers. She begins her story shyly, vague in her telling. “I… I met a man this morning.”

Her friends’ eyes widen, and they settle into their seats on either side of her like it’s story time. When Rey pauses immediately, Rose elbows her lightly, prompting her to continue.

“Aaaand?! Tell us _everything_.”

“Seriously, Rey. Is he single?”

She laughs at that. “Finn! I haven’t even told you what he looks like, or how we met, or who he is—”

“That’s because you don’t _know_ who he is,” Rose points out, annoyingly. Rey shoots her a look.

“And you wouldn’t be telling us about him if you weren’t interested in finding out!” Finn has a point, there.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll answer all your questions, but you have to _listen_ before you start asking them.”

They grudgingly agree, which gets Rey about five minutes’ peace in which to tell her story before her friends start gushing, peppering her with questions.

_Their story,_ that impertinent voice in the back of her head whispers, conjuring an image of her hand in his…

Rey shakes herself. She’s got bigger engines to build tonight, and she spent most of the day fantasizing, besides. It’s time to tell Rose and Finn about the email, now that they know about the man. She worries a little about Finn’s reaction, but decides to bite the bullet and just show him. He’ll have an opinion, that’s for certain. But he might also have some much-needed advice…

“But that’s not the weirdest thing to happen to me today,” she begins, but Rose interrupts her before she can finish the transition.

“Am I some kind of _joke_ to you?!”

Rey’s taken aback. “W-what?”

“You told me he could be your _future husband_ —”

“Or a serial killer,” Finn interjects.

“Or a serial killer,” Rose agrees, “and when asked to describe him, the best you can do is ‘tall, dark, handsome, wears a weird watch.’” She frowns. “We wanted a wedding cake and you handed us a bowl of batter! Where’s my buttercream frosting? What about the piped floral icing?”

Rey flounders, a little overwhelmed by her friend’s bakery-themed metaphors, and uncertain as to what they mean. “What didn’t I tell you that you want to know?”

Her friends launch into a list of attributes.

“The way he walks!”

“What cologne he wears.”

“The color of his eyes…”

“Cufflinks or buttons?”

“His height, exactly.”

“If his smile made you melt…”

“The feel of his skin—”

“And what his touch did to you!”

Rey’s mouth goes slack. She can answer every one of those questions— except, of course, the last two. She knew her friends were romantics, but she didn’t realize they’d want that level of detail! Rey hesitates, too, to share such intimate information. She feels protective, possessive, of her mystery man. Still, she knows Rose isn’t going to take a simple “No” for an answer. Together she and Finn are mastermind interrogators.

She starts from the top of the list, answering honestly but without embellishment. There are some details she’s saving for later…

“Long strides, with a hint of a swagger.”

“Hot,” Finn mutters.

“I have no idea, but it’s subtle and smoky.” She inhales dreamily.

“Mysterious…” murmurs Rose.

“Black, like the sky at midnight, with all the stars’ light.” 

“That doesn’t make sense, but it’s romantic, so I’ll take it.” Rose smiles beatifically.

Rey rolls her eyes, a little embarrassed at being caught red-handed. She decides to dispel any further impression of her being a hopeless romantic, and answers the next question in a single word. “Cufflinks.”

“What kind?”

“That wasn’t the question, Finn.”

“So what?” Rose chimes in. “Spill!”

“Um… Onyx, I think, unpolished.” She can’t pretend she didn’t notice. “Gold setting— nothing flashy, though. Just two thin rectangles.”

“Tasteful,” Finn announces and Rose agrees.

“He sounds fashion forward and rich. I approve!”

Rey laughs at that. “Rosie, you already gave us your blessing. I don’t see how your added approval changes anything.”

She waves her free hand, airily dismissing Rey’s argument. “Just answer the rest of the questions, dear.”

Sighing, Rey takes a second to remember the rest before she rattles off answers rapid fire, leaving her friends little time to respond or romanticize. “Over six foot by an inch or two. Yes, embarrassingly enough. And as for the rest— well, he never touched me.” 

There’s a moment of silence and then—

“You two didn’t so much as _touch_?!”

Rey swallows a retort. She’s as upset about this development (or lack thereof) as Finn is. Rose, however, takes a different view of the situation.

“You don’t have to touch,” she says in a superior tone, “to know that it’s true love." Rose pauses dramatically, then adds in a wicked whisper, "But I would've climbed that man like a _tree_ before I let him leave my sight."

Finn ignores the innuendo, apparently too alarmed by the first half of Rose's response to scold her about the second. “True love?!” His eyebrows practically fly off his face. “Reyby, you never said anything about _true love_. Sexy stranger? I get it. He sounds hella hot. But soulmates? I mean, you have to admit, that’s a bit much…”

Rey pushes off the couch, having officially reached her limit. “I never said it was true love, okay? I never said anything about the breath leaving my body or a tingling sensation down my spine or bloody _lightning_ striking the air that separated the two of us!”

“Uh, ya just did…” Rose whispers, sounding a little shocked but sassy as ever. Rey hurls her a look that shuts Rose right up.

“I’m not naive enough to believe in love at first sight,” Rey continues, feeling hot and flustered and most of all frustrated. “I made a _joke_ about a hot stranger being my future husband but that was _all_. I’ll probably never see him again,” she adds in an angry mutter.

“Rey…” Rose’s tone is wistful, full of regret.

“We’re sorry if our questions made you upset,” Finn says, prodding Rose until she nods in agreement.

“I took things too far, with the whole husband thing. I’m sorry.”

Rey sighs and gazes down at her friends’ penitent faces. She could never stay mad at them for more than a minute, and tonight’s no exception. “It’s fine, really. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up over a joke. It’s just…”

They watch her with wide, waiting eyes.

“It’s just I liked him,” Rey whispers, “rather a lot.”

“And he likes you, too!” Rose jumps in reassuringly.

Finn concedes the point. “Rose is right. If half of what you told us is true— and you really didn’t tell us _that_ much— he’ll show his face at _Rebelle_ again soon.”

Rose snickers. “He’ll show her more than that, Stormy...”

“Rose…” Finn cautions, wary of upsetting Rey again.

“What? We were all thinking it. Some of us were probably imagining it!” She winks, and Rey flushes a delicate pink.

“Rose!” Rey whacks her friend with the tasseled throw pillow Paige gave her for Christmas the year before. But she can’t hide the smile spreading across her cheeks.

Rose smirks and Finn drops his head into his hands. “Rose Marie Tico… whatever will we do with you?”

“Loooove me?” She grins impishly; a second later she lunges for the tackle. Finn could shake Rose easily, but instead he wrestles with his friend, making a show of mock horror at the threat of being on the receiving end of one of her bear hugs.

Rey’s laughter is loud and clear, mingling with that of her friends. She joins in the fake fight, tickling her friends till they all hit the floor. Together, they cause such a ruckus that Paige ends up knocking on their door.

“Oi!” Rose's sister yells through two inches of wood. “Some of us have to be up at four!”

Rose freezes. “Crap!” She whispers, clutching Rey’s forearm. “I forgot it’s delivery day tomorrow!”

“Shit.” Rey disentangles herself from the pile of limbs. Sitting up, she runs a hand through her now-loose hair. “You should go, Rosie. You know how cranky you get when you haven’t slept.”

Finn scoffs. “Worse than the Witch King of Angmar.”

“Shut up, nerd.”

“Nice comeback!”

“You suck.”

Finn looks smug. “So do you.”

Rose gasps in faux-offense, then starts cackling all over again. “I didn’t mean it like that, perv!”

Finn looks to Rey for support, which she provides without hesitation. “Rose, your mind is as dirty as the gutter outside Christopher Street Station. You know, where you threw up after Pride?”

Rose's laughter fades and she rolls her eyes. “Whatever! It doesn’t matter, because I _don’t_ have to be up at four.”

“Then why—”

“Paige’s just pissed because she cleaned up all by herself. She’s on delivery duty, I’m manning the ovens tomorrow morning. Seriously, it’s cool. I don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Why didn’t you help her, earlier?” Finn interjects, suspicious. Rose has a slight tendency to shirk when it comes to clean up.

Rose shoots him a look of profound disbelief. “Because I had to help Rey!”

Rey squeezes her friend’s hand. “And I appreciated it, Rosie.” Then she lifts her chin and shouts, “Apologies, Paige! We’ll keep it down from now on.”

There’s a distinct scoff from the other side of the door. Paige tosses back, “I don’t believe you!” But it’s followed by the sound of her footsteps receding down the stairs.

The three of them stand up, dust off, and settle back down on the couch. Some of Rey’s earlier tension has left her body, thanks to the brief gossip session, and she pulls her knees up to her chin in an approximation of contentment. That is, until Rose asks about the email.

“So what was the other thing?”

“What?”

“There was something else on your mind when you came in. Spill?”

Finn perks up. “Oh yeah— earlier you said that meeting that guy wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen to you today. So, what was?”

Rey worries her lower lip. It’s best to do this fast, she decides, like ripping off a bandaid. Even if she is a little worried about Finn’s reaction. “Right. Well. Where to begin…”

They just stare at her expectantly, a combination of confusion and impatience playing out across their faces.

Time to bite the bullet.

Rey takes a deep breath. “You will not believe what just came into my inbox.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second part of this scene is at once steamier and more serious, and soon to come! 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading!


	5. Regroup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn, Rose, and Rey finish their heart to heart. Across town, a certain stranger struggles to get a grip.

“You will not believe what just came into my inbox.”

“TBH, Rey, with your line of work… Nothing is unbelievable.”

Rey chucks a throw pillow at Rose, who dodges it easily. Finn grins as if he agrees.

“No, seriously, guys. Look at this.” She pulls out her phone and quickly locates the missive, then hands it over for them to examine.

“OMG!”

Finn is silent but he’s paled considerably.

“Rey, you’d make _so_ much money. Tell me you’re considering accepting the position.” Rose followed Rey’s gaze, which was resting on a frozen Finn. “Okay, I’m confused. Why does Finn look like he’s seen a ghost, and why do you look like you’ve been given a grenade and not a highly lucrative job offer?” Rose raises her eyebrows, waiting for some kind of answer. “What do you both know that I don’t?”

“I need to go check on my pasta,” Finn mumbles, and beats a hasty retreat.

“What was that about?” Rose’s tone is softer, but she’s still expecting an answer.

Rey grimaces. “You know the company Finn used to work for?”

“Before RESISTANCE?”

She nods. “Did he ever tell you why he left?”

Rose is about to answer when Finn reenters the room.

“No, I didn’t,” he sighs. “But the cat’s more or less out of the bag.” He crosses over to the armchair opposite the couch and lowers himself into its worn seat. It’s upholstered in a green paisley, faded from years of sunlight, and there’s fluff coming out of a hole in one arm— another scavenged find. Finn traces one of the curling shapes with a single finger.

“I used to work for _First Order_ , before you knew me. Back when I needed the money so bad I’d take a job as an assembly worker and sell my sketches on the street. It wasn’t till I was fired from _FO_ for unionizing that I met Poe— and through him got a job at RESISTANCE. But that part you already know.”

“Uh, nope.” Rose is staring at Finn, shock and curiosity commingling on her face. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate— you’re worse at storytelling than than Rey!”

“I _beg_ your pardon,” Rey mutters, casting Rose an offended look. “Not all of us overshare as though we’re being paid by the word…”

Rose bats her hand at Rey. “Shush. I wanna hear what Finn has to say!”

Sighing deeply, Finn settles into his seat. “Fine. But interrupt me, and you’ll never hear the ending.”

Rose mimics zipping her lips— she hands a confused Rey the imaginary key.

“I think that means she’s ready, Finn.” Rey frowns. “Are you alright, revisiting this?”

Finn grimaces. “It’s time I told someone other than you, Poe, and my therapist. And she’ll tie me to this chair and interrogate me if I don’t ‘ _spill_ ,’ after all this suspense.”

Rey nods and Finn flexes his fingers against the armrests. Swallowing hard, he begins his story.

“At first it was the hours. We worked brutal shifts, from dawn till dusk, and we were lucky if we got more than a meal break. They were starting some new line, and the design team was behind schedule, so they took it out on the factory workers rather than delay the launch. We were disposable, ‘unskilled,’ desperate for a job.”

He pauses there for a moment, letting the injustice sink in. Rose takes his hand and squeezes, as she’d done to Rey earlier.

“You’re not disposable,” Rey whispers, but Finn just grimaces.

“Tell that to your new boss,” he mutters, before continuing his narrative.

“That’s when the injuries started— and the cover-ups. A friend of mine, a machinist, lost a hand working a press. I’ll never forget the screaming, his blood on the big machine. It was near to the end of a ten hour shift. He was exhausted, should have gone home hours before. But Snoke, the overseer, had other ideas.”

“Snoke?”

“One of Ren’s cronies, a real sick bastard. We used to joke that he got off on the suffering he caused.”

Rey shivers, exchanging a glance with Rose. What the hell is she getting herself into? But before she can dwell on the offer in the email, Finn pushes on.

“Someone else, a woman I’d never really spoken too, spent a few days in the ICU. She’d been exposed to a batch of bad chemicals in a spill. It wasn’t her fault— the equipment was faulty, corroded joints. But I swear they must have been mixing phthalates in because I’d never seen that severity of burn from plastic or pure silicone.”

“What’s a fthl—” Rose frowns. “A whatever you just said.”

Rey answers for Finn, her tone flat with disgust. “Phthalates are plasticizers, chemicals added to plastics that increase durability, longevity, flexibility, the whole package.” She’ll never use phthalates in her toys— it’s not worth the risk of exposure, for her or for the customer.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“Nothing, if you’re a soulless corporation that doesn’t care about the safety of your customers or employees,” Finn mutters bitterly. Rose’s brows knit together in confusion.

Rey jumps in to fill the gaps in her friend’s knowledge once again. “The thing is, they’re toxins. Bad ones. There are studies floating around linking exposure to them to organ failure and cancer! Plus, toys made with them end up being porous.”

“And?”

“And that means they’ll harbor bacteria if not cleaned thoroughly before and after use. Which, well, let’s be realistic. How many people disinfect their toys before _and_ after use— if at all?”

Rose blushes. “I guess I could do a better job of that myself…”

“Exactly! Bacteria, organ damage and failure, cancer— all because manufacturers want to cut corners and incorporate phthalates into their production processes.”

“That can’t be legal!”

“The industry isn’t well regulated,” Finn offers. “Companies can get away with a lot these days.”

“Like endangering factory workers by exposing them to toxins or forcing them to work inhumane hours,” Rose utters, understanding dawning on her round face.

“As well as lying to customers about the safety of their products,” Rey adds.

Finn nods, looking grim but satisfied.

“So what happened?” Rose presses him, eager to listen.

Finn sighs. “I tried to get a union going, tried to stir up my fellow workers into some kind of action, but I failed. Snoke found out and crushed our organization. I was fired without compensation, or my last month’s wages.”

“Couldn’t you sue? Or go to the press?" This time it’s Rey asking.

Finn laughs bitterly. “They make you sign an NDA when you sign on for factory work. It shouldn’t be legal, but somehow they get away with it.”

“Then how does Poe factor into all this?

A wry, wistful expression passes over Finn’s face. “I didn’t care about the NDA, I wasn’t even sure what it meant. About week after I got fired, I was evicted. Started moping about at Maz’s place, taking whatever scraps she’d give me. That’s when Poe found me. Took pity on me. When I told him my story, he wanted to run it. But the magazine’s lawyer looked into the NDA, and warned us against publishing anything. It wasn’t worth the risk to me, or to any of the other folks still at the factory. God only knows what Snoke and Ren would do to them, to get back at me…”

Finn lowers his head, catching his round chin in his hands. He gazes at Rose, who’s fidgeting with a lock of shiny black hair, loose from its braided pigtail.

“I hate them,” he states without inflection. “I hate _First Order_ , and I hate the men responsible for it. I don’t care if they’ve cleaned up their act since then— and I sincerely doubt that they have. I don’t want Rey getting mixed up with those monsters.” He tilts his head to look at her. “I’m glad you’re not going to accept Ren’s offer.”

He says this with such an air of finality that Rey forgets she hasn’t actually refused it yet.

Rose, however, has not missed a beat. “But she hasn’t said or done anything, Finn.” She looks to Rey in confusion. “Tell me Finn’s wrong. Tell me you’re at least a little bit open to this opportunity!”

Before Rey can respond, Finn snarls at Rose. “Opportunity? Seriously? You heard my story. You know what they are! Rey can’t be a part of that, I don’t care how much cash’s on offer! It’s dangerous. And it’s _wrong_.”

“Oh my god, you are so DENSE sometimes. Could you put your protectiveness away for one second and consider what’s actually available to her— and I don’t just mean a six figure salary plus benefits.”

Finn glares at Rose, but Rey just blinks. “What do you mean, Rosie? There was nothing in that email to suggest—”

“I’m talking about justice, you idiots! The chance to do what’s right, to make a difference!” She turns to Rey. “Rey, honey, you could be the key to every question Finn can’t legally answer!”

“What are you talking about?”

There’s a fiery gleam in Rose’s eyes, an energy radiating from within. _She’s… scheming_ , Rey realizes, startled but not surprised. Of the three of them, Rose has the biggest heart and the most conniving mind.

“Finn,” Rose says, addressing him in an impatient yet compassionate tone. “Are all employees required to sign NDAs, or is it just factory workers and the rest of the manufacturing team?”

“Uh,” Finn stalls, taken aback by the specificity of Rose’s question. “I think it’s just the latter.”

“Hmm… Well, no matter. Rey’s contract will tell her.”

“Contract?! I haven’t yet agreed to accept Ren’s offer.”

Rose shoots Rey a superior look. “You will, though, when you’ve thought things through.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

“Don’t worry,” Rose grins and there’s that gleam in her eye again. “It’s your turn to shut up and listen.”

“Oh?”

“I have an idea.”

Finn groans. “This’ll be good.”

“I thought you wanted to put an end to capitalistic oppression, or whatever you’re always on about?”

“Not if it means making Rey just another spoke in the wheel.”

Rose smirks. “To paraphrase a certain khaleesi… we’re not going to stop the wheel, or make our best friend another spoke in it. We’re going to break the wheel! IF you stop grumbling and let me speak!”

“Well, you’ve certainly got me interested,” Rey interjects, wishing Finn would stop digging in his heels and hear Rose out. She understands his reluctance, his repugnance, even, but she can’t help but play peacekeeper— especially when Rosie seems to be suggesting the overthrow of industrial capitalism. It couldn’t hurt to listen…

Fifteen minutes later, Rey and Finn exchange shocked looks. There’s an electric current in the air, unsettling yet intriguing all the same. Rose’s plan is reckless, impossible, absurd— but neither Rey nor Finn can deny their curiosity, their desire to give in to impulse and inspiration. And to be fair, it’s not actually unfeasible. Just… overly ambitious. A bit much for Rey to process at the moment.

Rose seems to sense this, and so she finishes on a deceptively casual note. “Just an idea, anyway… Think it over!”

Rey nods, dazed and a little confused.

Finn quirks his head to one side, looking pensive. “Hey, you don’t think any of this is related to your mystery man, do you?”

Rey shakes her head, although an uneasy feeling rises in the pit of her stomach at the idea. She shoves the foreboding down. “No, I’m sure they’re separate. That guy did not seem like the evil mastermind behind an exploitative business. He liked my designs!”

Finn fixes her with a look. “Rey. Just because someone compliments you does not mean they’re a good person.” He sighs heavily. “But I agree. I never met Kylo Ren— I don’t even know what he looks like, to be honest, as he rarely showed his face around the office— but he doesn’t seem the flirt-with-strangers type. And if he felt like he had competition, he’d crush them instead of inviting them to— what did he say to you? ‘Join’ him?”

Rey nods, feeling a surge of relief. Still an irrepressible thread of doubt winds its way through her body. A yarn spun in the back alleys of Jakku. “But what does he want with _me_?” Her voice is a whisper. Finn and Rose exchange heartfelt looks. “I’m a nobody. I have nothing. I _am_ nothing.”

Rose claps her hands, once. “Snap out of it, Rey.”

Finn catches her eye and holds it. “Don’t start this again.”

“Alright, alright...” She searches for a segue, and then abandons the attempt. “So… who wants to watch Netflix?”

***

Finn falls asleep halfway through the third episode of Criminal Minds, and Rose leaves when it’s over. After nudging her grumbling roommate in the direction of the bathroom, lest he head to bed with unbrushed teeth, Rey shuts off her laptop and plugs it into the twice-repaired cord poking out from behind the couch. Finn finishes his ablutions in well under the suggested two minutes, but Rey doesn’t reprimand him as he trudges off, bleary-eyed, to bed. No use scolding a grown man for his half-asleep habits.

Rey stops in the kitchenette for a glass before heading herself to the bathroom. Finn left the light on, so she doesn’t bother with the switch as she enters, instead making a beeline for the sink. She fills her cup at the tap then fumbles for her pillbox on the counter, popping open the square with a “W” for the day and tossing back a colorful mix of birth control, antidepressants, and CVS-brand supplements.

She couldn’t afford vitamins growing up in Jakku, much less a psychiatrist or monthly prescriptions— maybe if she had been able to, she’d be taller than 5’5” and wouldn’t need half the stuff she swallows every night before bed...

Rey doesn’t want to dwell on the past tonight, though. Well, not the distant kind. Shoving far-from-fond memories of her childhood aside, Rey opens herself up to the flood of feelings that she tried to locked away earlier that day.

Joy, anxiety, a thrill of self-confidence— all happy side effects of this morning’s flirtation.

Confusion, fear, a rush of co-mingled dread and excitement— the effect of that email, Finn’s tale, and Rose’s advice.

Rey is unnerved and intrigued by the events of the day, and frankly she doesn’t know what to make of any of it.

She’ll hold off on responding to the _First Order_ offer until she decides how she feels about Rose’s plan.

As for the tall, dark, handsome stranger she met at the pop-up this morning… well, there isn’t much she can do about him, or his ominous parting.

_You’ll be seeing me again, soon._

It should have been creepy, but coming out of his wide mouth, the words were sexy. Maybe he’d meant it as a customer— like, he’ll be coming back to buy something soon. That would be nice, given how much time and energy she spent showing him her wares (stars, she wishes that were innuendo…).

Then again, he could have intended it as a come-on— that mysterious quirk of his lips, the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he’d said it… Rey hopes with all her heart that he’ll be back for her— for _her_ , not just her creations. Although, both? Both would be good.

Rey spits into the sink, then floods the basin clean. She wipes off her make up and scrubs her skin raw, applying a few dots of acne cream. Then, with a sigh that’s halfway between weary and dreamy, she switches off the light and leaves the bathroom.

Crossing the apartment, she turns off the lamps in the common area. Time for bed— regardless of the fact that the street below is as loud as it was three hours ago.

The low hum of city living has never bothered Rey and she barely notices the noise, today. Her thoughts are instead with her mystery man as she shuts the door to her bedroom behind her, letting the lock click into place.

She wonders what he is (or isn’t) wearing while she strips out of her sundress and tosses it in the hamper. She estimates the thread count of his sheets, imagines the spring of his mattress, as she slips under her covers and into her own bed.

Absently, she reaches for the light switch. And then, the toy atop her nightstand…

_In the still of the night, in the silent secrecy of her room, Rey is far from alone._

For someone whose business _is_ pleasure, Rey has pretty strict rules about mixing business and pleasure. No customers, no investors, no competitors. The former has always seemed too creepy to contemplate, and the latter two were… well, until today, non-starters!

But as she curls up, catlike, in her cozy nest of covers, and trails her fingers across the soft silicon wand in her hand, Rey finds her principles challenged yet again.

She’s consumed by a craving for that tall, dark stranger. Her mystery man, who made her heart skip a beat and her pussy throb… _danger_.

Thrilling at the thought of him, at the mere memory of his murmur, Rey drags the toy’s flat head in a lazy line down her abdomen. The smooth silicon finds friction at last as it grazes against Rey’s clitoris, the eager nub like a flower in spring, budding. She thumbs a button and the device comes to life, its low rumble maddeningly slow and steady as she stalls on its first setting.

The first frissons of pleasure flood Rey’s form. Sweet electricity creeps like ivy under her skin. Rey’s clitoris jumps, and her inner walls clench, as her whole body bucks toward the source of the vibrations.

Letting the tension build below, Rey switches her attention to the fingers of her other hand. She sucks them until they drip with fluid desire: her saliva. Rey’s petal-like folds are already soaked, swollen. But if testing her own sex toys has taught Rey anything, it’s that there’s no such thing as too much lubricant when it comes to easing and entering.

Rey lowers her free hand to stroke her aching labia, coaxing them wide and wet. She teases her slick entrance with a finger, then two, probing more powerfully as the muscles relax under her exploratory touch.

The vibrations spread out from her clitoris, down and deep. She switches the toy into its second setting, a rumble that reaches far and wide and forces Rey to muffle a mewling cry. 

Less than a minute, and she’s ready. Ready to be penetrated by something longer, thicker than her lone finger. The wand in her right hand, currently pressed against her keening clit— or her mystery man’s member, better yet.

Sighing, Rey relaxes and envisions his hair, falling across his forehead like a raven’s wing, a dark curtain she wants drawn across her own face.

Her starving cunt swallows the head of the wand— still sending out surge after surge of low-level vibration. Moaning low into her pillow, she pushes the toy in deeper, pulsing along her vaginal walls, until at last the full length is inside her.

And then, she begins to thrust.

Rey imagines his hands on the mattress, either side of her, his arms locked at the elbows, supporting a muscled torso that hovers above her like heaven. She moves, and so does the man she dreams of, strong and smooth, then hard and frenzied. Sweat dripping, back arching, toe curling. She sobs into a plushie, bites hard to keep from crying out. Her body trembles and tenses, her limbs strung taut like a vibrator’s wiring.

The mere _idea_ of him makes Rey’s body sing with promises of future pleasure. If only _he_ were here— in her bed, in her body.

 _If only_ he _were here._

It’s her last coherent thought before she succumbs to sweet, shivering oblivion…

***

Fewer than fifteen blocks away, the hot stranger paces his penthouse apartment. He’s agitated, alright. Half-anxious, half-aroused. Worried he was acting on impulse when he emailed her, wishing he’d let instinct take him further. Further along this path that seems to lead directly to her, further along this journey to their inevitable union.

 _Join me,_ he’d said in the subject line of that email. _Join me_ , he’d wanted to say to her face at her shopfront. Business and pleasure have blended together, and he’s not sure he can survive the fusion.

Business is the realm of Kylo Ren, the alter ego he created in order to avoid spotlight and scandal. Pleasure, on the other hand, belongs exclusively to Ben. The man behind the curtain— the stranger across the counter. 

Ben Organa Solo, the suddenly insatiable. Ben Organa Solo, a desert storm of sensual desire.

It’s new, this hunger he feels in his cock and his soul. For her only, notably.

It’s driving his decisions, having temporarily overthrown all logic, acumen, reason.

 _Take my hand, take my heart, take my body_.

Swallowing a groan that sounded suspiciously like “Rey, _”_ Ben unzips his wool trousers, letting them hang from his hips as he palms the growing bulge in his briefs.

 _Fuck_.

Sliding his right hand beneath the elastic waistband, he grips his hardening cock.

_“Can I help you with anything in particular?”_

Ben doesn’t even make it to the bedroom before he’s coming, crying out her sweet name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for injury, dismemberment (brief mention), masturbation
> 
> Apologies for inaccuracies re: factories, legal, manufacturing, or chemicals. 
> 
> Let me know in the comments if, in the future, I should focus more on the fucking and less on the plot!


	6. First Order of Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben starts his day; Rose convinces Rey.

It’s six in the morning and Ben Solo is as hard as one of the polished stone dildos his company sells. Harder than he’s been since he was a teen— and somehow hornier than when hormones ruled his mind and body, in addition.

In short, he can’t blame hormones for this boner. But he can blame _her_.

The girl behind the counter.

The woman of his dreams.

The solitary shaft of sunlight that had pierced the muddy gloom of his morning routine…

 _Rey_.

Her shy smile had changed the course of more than just his day.

In fact, her lips had haunted him all through the night, as well. He wasn’t joking when he referred to her as the woman of his dreams. Wet ones, judging by the state of his briefs…

Swallowing a sigh, he shrugs out of the sticky mess of cotton and tosses it across the room. Then he nestles back under the covers, his ass bare as the day he was born, to steal another couple seconds of sleep…

The alarm by Ben’s king-sized bed blares to life, a harsh staticky sound. _Fuck that_ , he thinks, fumbling for the ‘snooze’ button. He’ll be up in a few. That is, when he’s no longer _up_ …

Ben’s first order of business upon waking today is dismantling the tent his dick’s pitched in his sheets.

Poking precisely skyward, as if to greet the sun, little Ben (or rather, “Big Ben,” as it’s been christened by past fucks) prods the Egyptian cotton to make its presence known.

Straining against the sheets, painfully swollen, sweating pearly drops of precum.

(The latter Ben gathers from the damp that clings to its head like dew, as he can’t actually see his cock at the moment— it’s caught up in a snow-white canopy of sleep-wrinkled sheets.)

Gingerly, Ben lifts said coverings, stripping his torso bare, too. He blinks blearily at the one-eyed monstrosity between his legs. It’s a ruddy red, an angry colour, impossible to ignore. Even as he tosses the topsheet aside, freeing his cock completely, the damn thing twitches expectantly.

Breakfast will have to wait, the rest of his routine, too. No cold shower will do the trick on a rod this thick. Ben’s cock is so insistent this morning, it makes the caterwauling wake up calls of its feathery, crested namesake sound meek.

With a sigh that widens into a yawn, Ben reaches across his body and turns the alarm off altogether.

A crack between the curtains allows a shaft of weak sunlight to stream into his room. Some of it spills across his sheets, faintly illuminating the vast shape of his bed. A stripe that’s brighter, more focused than the rest, cuts across his body, casting the muscles of his thigh and abdomen in high relief, constructing a lazy halo for his backlit balls and cock.

Ben wonders absently whether Rey would like waking up to the sight of his sun-kissed dick. Whether she’d be jealous of the light’s caress, lower her head to steal his cock’s halo, part her lips to take the sun’s place.

To suck. To kiss. To lick.

Ben imagines it. He wills it. He worships it— and her image.

Fingers splayed, Ben slides his right hand down the length of his torso. His touch soothes as much as it inflames, traipsing the smooth expanse of his pecs, tripping over the hard ridges of his abdominals.He slows his pace to a snail’s when he finds the start of that happy trail, following it deep into the thicket of dark hair that hides his base.

(Absently, Ben notes he’s in need of a trim.)

Ben’s fingers ring around the base of his cock, then slip past the protrusion to cover and cup his nestled balls. The faintest squeeze, the slightest stroke of his perineum, and Ben groans like a wild beast. Another pearl-like drop spills from the slit atop his cock, rolls down the underside of his shaft and seeps beneath his bent knuckles. It’s sticky, but not so viscous as his cum.

Reluctantly Ben releases his aching balls, retracing the earlier path of his fingertips up his body. It’s luxuriant torture, to be touched like this.

Even if only by himself.

Ben brings his right hand to his mouth, then his left, licking his palms with a flattened tongue. No need for lube— the combination of slick saliva and creamy precum should do the trick.

Glancing down at his engorged dick— the veiny shaft, the flared tip— Ben grins. He looks like one of Rey’s hyper-realistic, double XL dildos. One of the toys she painted, painstakingly, by hand. Made one at a time from a mould she sculpted herself.

Ben imagines her hands, warming the clay. He envisions her lips as she works, frowning in concentration. The flash of white as she bites down on the lower one. The tip of her tongue, darting out to moisten them, or merely taste her fruity lip balm. No, not balm. Gloss. Shiny and wet and sweet like icing…

Or cum, smeared across her swollen mouth, her kiss-bruised lips.

His cock throbs, impatient for Rey’s touch— alas, his own will have to be enough.

Ben finally reaches for himself, long fingers circling his iron-hard shaft. It twitches, and he answers with a tightening of his grip. His left hand extends further, cupping his soft sack. One finger, the middle, stretches out to stroke his sensitive perineum.

Back arching a little, Ben shivers.

Then, breathing hard, he starts to move his right hand. Up and down his pulsing shaft. He swoops his thumb over the flat head, toys with its flared edge. Ben takes a second to simply stroke his nerve-filled frenulum…

He massages his balls at a slower pace, but manages to synchronize the movements of his left hand with the increasingly frenzied stroking and squeezing of his right.

Ben thinks of Rey, recklessly, shamelessly. The captivating stranger who captured his heart— and cock— with her lovely eyes, her clever mouth, her glorious imagination, her golden laugh.

He imagines traveling the hard lines of her body with his tongue, kneading her reticent curves. Tasting the lipgloss she so obviously enjoys the succulent flavor of; lying back as her lush lips envelop his mouth, his dick.

It’s Rey’s hand he feels against the hot skin of his cock, Rey’s nimble fingers playing with his balls. Rey’s tongue wetting his palm, circling his shaft. Rey’s grip like iron, coaxing the climax out of him. The back of Rey’s throat coated in thick, salty ropes of his cum.

It’s Rey’s smile he sees, when he closes his eyes. Her grin, triumphant, at having finished him…

_Fuck._

That was the best orgasm he’s had in what feels like forever, and all it took was his hands and the thought of her. Breathless, Ben splays spread-eagle on his bed and wonders what Rey herself could summon forth from him…

 _Oh God, not again._ The mere idea of making love to Rey has Ben sporting a semi. It’s been less than a minute since he came, and he’s starting to get hard again.

 _Stars_ , what has she done to him?

***

_“Reyby_ …”

Rey whips around at the sound of her nickname. Her back was to the register while she stared at her phone, at the email she received the previous evening, thus allowing her best friend to sneak up on her.

“Rose!” She shoves her phone in the back pocket of her overalls and pretends to be busy with the shop, but she doesn’t fool her friend, whose knowing grin turns into an angelic smile.

Rose slides a box with the Tico label onto the glass countertop. “I brought cannoli! Lobster tail, your fave!”

“Wow— thank you,” she says, tugging open the paper flaps to reveal an array of golden pastries. A warm, buttery aroma wafts out of the box, and Rey inhales deeply before remembering herself and her friend. “What, erm, what are you doing here?”

Rose shrugs, her beatific expression replaced by one of exaggerated boredom. “Slow day at the bakery. Paige was getting snappy. Thought you could use some company!”

“AKA you’re hoping my ‘mystery man’ shows up again so you can spy on him…” Rey puts her hands on her hips and stares Rose down until she breaks, laughing loudly.

“Guilty as charged!” She glances around dramatically. “I didn’t miss him, did I?!”

Rey sighs. “No, Rose, you did not miss him.” She frowns a little, fidgeting with the doily that lines the box. “I’ve had exactly one customer this morning, and she only wanted to know if I had any novelty toys in stock.”

“Aren’t you working on that Star Wars collection?”

“It’s not ready yet, and I don’t know when it will be, so I can’t exactly go around hyping everyone up…” Rey breaks the end off one of the lobster tails with a satisfying crunch. Cream filling spills out of the hole in the perfectly cooked pastry. “Honestly, Rose, I don’t know if I can afford prime real estate any longer, at this rate. I can’t attract customers and I can’t keep them!”

She pops the piece of pastry into her mouth, flakes sticking to her lips and fingers. Rose chews her lip in silence, and it’s obvious from the furrow in her brow that she doesn’t know how to comfort her friend.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end,” she says after a minute’s painful silence. “And in the meantime… have you thought about my plan?!” Rose perks up, resting her chin in her hands and her elbows on the counter. She gazes up at Rey, waggling her eyebrows in a ridiculous way.

Rey can’t help but smile, just a little, at her friend’s efforts. “Subtle, Rosie. And no.”

“No?” Rose looks at Rey like she just tossed the contents of the box in the bin. “Why not?” She asks, looking as deflated as she sounds.

“Honestly? I’m a little overwhelmed with work at the moment!” Her voice is embarrassingly shrill, and she lowers it when she sees a nearby pigeon take flight. “What you’re asking just isn’t feasible for me.” A second later, Rey grimaces, feeling guilty for dismissing her friend out of hand.

“But it would solve all your financial problems!”

Rey sighs. “I’m not sure…” But she can’t deny those puppy dog eyes. “Alright, alright— I’ll consider it. But can you go over everything again? Slowly, this time?”

Rose lights up like a kyber crystal. “Yes, ma’am!”

Rey shoves another piece of cannoli into her mouth, suppressing a reluctant groan by means of flaky pastry and cool cream. Regardless of any financial or ethical inducements, Rey’s got a bad feeling about this…

“So. Here goes.” Rose tugs her phone out of a side pocket on her Pokemon backpack and Rey can see she’s got an entire page devoted to this on her notes app. It’s titled “Operation Stardust,” naturally. (Rose has always been partial to _Rogue One_.)

“One. You take the job. For real.” Reading from the screen, she rushes the next two lines, like she’s voicing-over a prescription drug commercial and has reached the part where she’s legally required to rattle off the major side effects: “Which may mean putting the pop-up on hiatus for a little bit, but trust me you will be able to afford it and besides maybe you can negotiate your contract around this!”

Rose beams, somewhat artificially, at a skeptical Rey. Before she can get a word in edge-wise, however, Rose segues. “Which leads us to step two! You make sure your contract says nothing about an NDA.”

Rey nods, although she’s not sure how much negotiating power she’ll have. As if reading Rey’s mind, Rose answers that question for her. “Think about the language of that email. Ren kept talking about how it would be his “pleasure” and how they’d be “delighted” or whatever to have you.”

“That was just professional courtesy,” Rey mumbles, but even she fails to be convinced by herself.

Rose huffs. “Look, Reyby. Kylo Ren wants you on his team. He’s going to offer you an enormous salary and if need be, you can take a smaller cut for a more flexible contract. Maybe he’ll let you keep the shop open on weekends! He certainly can’t stop you from continuing to design toys for your own collections.”

“I suppose…”

“Rey, I’ve got faith in your ability to negotiate this contract like the badass businesswoman you already are.”

Rey smiles begrudgingly at this. “Thanks, Rosie.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Maybe I should change your name in my phone to ‘The Riveter.’”

Rose cackles. “Yes, you should, and also, you’re welcome. Now eat up and let me finish!” She waves a lobster tail in Rey’s face until she takes it, laughing, in her hand.

“Step three: You do the job. I feel like that one’s pretty self-explanatory. Moving on. Step four!You collect evidence of exploitation and unsafe working conditions.”

Rey frowns through a mouthful of pastry. Another part of “Operation Stardust” that Rey’s not confident she can pull off.

As ever, Rose is attuned to Rey’s emotions. Or maybe it’s just that Rey’s extremely emotive around people she trusts. Either way, her friend puts her hand reassuringly on Rey’s arm.

“If Finn’s right, this shouldn’t be too hard. Just befriend someone on the factory floor! Look through some desk drawers when everyone’s out on lunch break! Sneak into the room where they keep the shredded documents! But _remember_ : take photos of anything and everything. Videos, if you can.” Rose frowns. “Actually, I’m not sure about the legality of that. Are we a two-party state when it comes to recording? Hmmm…”

Rey swallows a glob of creamy filling and narrows her eyes at Rose. “You don’t actually know what you’re talking about do you? You’re just making this up as you go along.”

“Am not!” She turns up her nose and thrusts her phone in Rey’s face. “I’m reading it from a document on my phone that I made up last night as I went along! Duh… Now! Where were we? Aha! Step five… The easiest and one of the best: collect your paycheck!”

Rey sighs a little at the idea of cashing in a check that large… She’d be able to hire help, rent a real manufacturing space rather than rely on the Ticos’ generosity, work on her website, afford advertisements! The possibilities are endless, and Rey’s mouth waters just thinking about them— or maybe that’s just the fresh pastry in her hand.

Rose bulldozes on, ignoring Rey’s brief reverie. “Next up, step six! You hand over the evidence to RESISTANCE. They publish an expose that doesn’t link back to you, covers your trail, et cetera, et cetera.” Taking in Rey’s uneasy expression, Rose re-summarizes. “You look pretty and snap a few pics; they do all the work, take all the risk. It’s _foolproof,_ babe.”

“Foolproof…” Rey repeats, unconvinced— but not as resistant as she’d been several minutes prior. Setting down the pastry, she brushes her hands against her overalls to rid them of sticky flakes.

“Foolproof!” Rose exclaims once more, to the confusion of a passerby. “Which leads us to step seven. Not really a step, so much as an ideal end result.”

Rey raises one skeptical eyebrow at her friend, trying to hide her growing interest in this plan behind a sardonic mask. Curiosity wins out in the end. “And that is?”

“You walk away with no one the wiser about your role in the failure of _First Order_ , enough money in the bank to do your dream job properly, and one fewer major competitor. Not to mention, the knowledge that you helped save a factory full of workers from exploitation and abuse! Hell, you’ll be setting them up for a major settlement in a class action suit.”

Rey shifts her weight from the counter on which she was leaning. “Wow, Rose. I didn’t realize you were so… knowledgeable about all this legal stuff.” It’s not an insult; it’s the honest truth. Rose had also brought up recording laws, a minute or two earlier, she’d clearly done _some_ research into this stuff.

Rose laughs. “My brain isn’t made of cupcake batter, babe.” She narrows her eyes shrewdly. “So… whatcha thinking? Are you in or are you out?”

“I’m not sure, Rosie. I still have a lot to consider…” Rey chews on her lip. “But when you put it that way…” It sounds pretty easy, and pretty good.

Rose throws her arms around Rey, knocking against the register and nearly upsetting the pastries in the process. The little bell rings, as it always does, when someone tries to open the cash drawer. The sound seems to jolt Rose out of her fevered daydream of Rey whistleblowing a major corporation. 

“Crap!” Rose disentangles herself from Rey, who starts to laugh.

“What, just remember you have a job?”

Rose swats playfully at Rey’s arm. “I got caught up in the drama! OMG, it’s gonna be so exciting!”

“I know, I was there.” She chuckles, but maneuvers her friend in the direction of the exit. “And I dunno, maybe… Whatever. That doesn’t matter right now— right now you have to go!”

“Okay, okay— but promise me you’ll consider it!”

Rey sighs at her friend’s expectant expression, now across the counter. “I promise.” Rose turns to leave. “Wait! Don’t you want the rest of your cannoli?!”

Rose glances back at Rey, grinning. “Nah, girl. It’s like Donna always says: treat yo self!”

She puckers up and blows Rey a kiss before skipping off, her little Pikachu backpack bouncing with each elevated step. Rey smiles, and glances around to make sure there aren’t any customers coming. Not a wallet in sight, as usual. But with the stack of pastries in front of her, she can’t summon the energy to be sad about reality.

Gleefully, Rey bites hard into her second cannoli, soft white filling oozing everywhere. Laughing at herself, at the mess she’s made, Rey begins to clean the cream from her fingers and face. She’s too busy licking the sweet globs and white streaks from her cheeks to see the tall man in the navy suit standing across the street, lounging under the awning of her favorite crepe place.

He watches Rey devour pastry with a starved look upon his face, smothering a whimper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic might get more horny and less plot-oriented in the future...


	7. Rain in Soho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy day demands Rey close up early. She visits her favorite coffee shop before meeting up with Poe to pitch Rose's idea.
> 
> Title taken from The Mountain Goats song, because it is in fact raining in Soho. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anS6bcPpvoQ

The weatherman lied.

When Rey tuned into WYNC this morning while getting dressed, the man on the radio had said nothing about torrential downpour. Sunshine was promised, and a smattering of clouds. But not a Biblical flood, or Rey would have taken an ark to work. Scratch that— Rey wouldn’t have gone to work.

Rainy days are slow for little shops like hers. The toys she sells may be waterproof, but the universe hasn’t seen fit to make her customers hydrophobic, too. So, if she’d known, she’d have stayed at home.

Or rather, she’d have made the two-minute trip to the basement of her building, where she’d have donned her stained denim coveralls and gotten to work trimming excess silicon off her latest dildo design.

Instead, she’s surveying the gutters of Sullivan Street, watching them overflow onto the cobblestones.

Shivering, Rey decides to pack up the pop-up. She’s already brought in the stand and sign, so it doesn’t take long to secure everything else. She’ll be back later, so she doesn’t bother to lower the metal grate. But Rey’s not looking to get robbed, so she double-locks the display cases as well as the door.

Rey struggles with her ratty umbrella, realizing too late that it’s broken beyond repair. She huddles in the doorway for a moment, dodging the occasional drip, and debates hunkering down inside the shop rather than stepping out into the storm.

“To hell with this,” she mutters, then gingerly steps out onto the sidewalk, avoiding a newly-formed puddle in which a soggy cigarette butt floats. Despite her precautions, she’s soaked within ten seconds. _Bloody hell._ It’s a proper pour.

She doesn’t have enough for a cab, but luckily it’s just a quick dash down the block to her favorite coffee shop. Besides, a cab would be pointless now. And to think she’d bothered to braid her hair…

A host of sensations envelope Rey as she swings open the door to Takodana. A gust of warm air, the scent of fresh donuts, and the sound of Maz’s favorite bebop blasting through the overhead speakers.

Rey’s always been a bit of a favorite of Maz’s (the owner) for reasons she’s never quite parsed. So it’s only a second before she hears her name called, drowning out the music for a moment.

“How’s my number one customer?”

Rey laughs. “I could’ve sworn that was Chewie.”

Maz slips under the counter, barely needing to duck due to her diminutive size. She shakes her bald head as if Rey’s counterargument is absurd. “That old hairball hasn’t been by in days!” A loud voice makes up for her low stature.

“Besides,” she continues, grabbing a mop before walking over to where Rey is dripping all over the checkered floor, “he doesn’t drink half so many of those strawberry frappes as you.”

It’s true— the bubblegum pink iced drinks are something of a guilty pleasure for Rey, who grew up on a diet of stale tea (unsweetened) and sour coffee (black). There was no such thing as a frappe in Jakku. There certainly weren’t fresh strawberries, or mountains of whipped cream.

Just thinking about the sugary concoctions Maz froths up makes Rey’s mouth water. She slides into her usual booth, blessedly dry and familiarly worn, before turning back to the tanned and weathered face in front of her. The shop owner’s expression is expectant.

“Well, child? What’ll it be?”

Rey frowns, thinking.

“You need something hot and sweet,” Maz states in an authoritative tone that makes it clear she will be making the decision _for_ Rey today. “Ah! I’ll cook you up some spiced chocolate— double the whipped cream.”

Rey grins, forgetting her sodden state at the idea of such a treat. “I’ll meet you at the register, Mazzie. Just give me a second to rest my feet.”

The older woman just winks.

Five minutes later, Rey is seated in a booth, sipping steaming cocoa. A dishrag’s been draped over her shoulders to catch the drips from the ends of her hair. Maz has gone back to business, leaving her favorite customer to her own devices.

Rey quickly decides there’s no point reopening the shop— any potential customers will have taken cover from the current weather. She’ll just have to remember to return before nightfall, to close the metal curtain.

In the meantime… Well, she has nothing to do but drink whatever Maz puts in front of her and dream of a future in which the sun shines light on a long line of cash-heavy customers.

It sucks, being broke. Not that her current financial conditions are poor, compared to what she grew up with. (Nothing.)

Nevertheless, it can be thankless, running a small business. And Rey’s afraid that _Rebelle_ is sinking… and not for lack of her trying to keep it afloat.

The truth is, Rey needs help— another pair of hands, a financial fairy godmother. She needs higher quality suppliers, and better advertisements. She needs help setting up her online store. And in order to make any or all of that happen, Rey needs financial backing. Just one confident, cash-cow of an investor, and her business could be a real success.

Instead of a sopping wet saleswoman, otherwise known as “a mess.”

For a long moment, Rey considers Ren’s offer. She pulls out her phone, rereads the email. It came out of nowhere, but it certainly seems sincere…

Then she scoffs, remembering what Finn said about their factory conditions— Rey won’t be a cog in that cold-blooded capitalist machine. (Or however her friend had put it.)

Finn’s rhetoric gets Rey thinking, though, about what Rose had said after Finn finished, and again at the shop yesterday morning. About breaking the wheel, getting the best of both worlds— financial and ethical.

She’s brazen enough to do what her friend suggested, isn’t she? If not, she’s definitely desperate enough…

Acting on impulse and pent up financial anxiety, Rey scrolls through her contacts. _Paige, Pasaana Pizza, Paz V., Peter (1NS), Plutt…_ Poe! Perfect. She already has his number— probably from that one time she, Paige, Poe, and Rose met up at a Mountain Goats concert. What a night…

Dragging her attention away from John Darnielle’s brilliant lyricism, and back into the present moment, Rey types a short text to Poe.

She’s far from surprised when he responds almost immediately. That man’s phone never leaves his hand— he even nicknamed it, she recalls, affectionately: “BB” (after the double buzz that indicates a new notification).

Rey has the address saved under Finn’s contact information, so it’s a matter of minutes before she shows up on the doorstop of RESISTANCE Magazine’s office in Soho. It’s still raining, and she’s now biting her nails (a nervous habit), but at least she’s no longer drenched, standing safely under the orange umbrella that Maz lent her.

Not drenched, nope. Just … damp.

And not in a sexy way, either. Although that’s probably for the best— it would be highly inappropriate for her to get _wet_ in anticipation of what is essentially a job interview.

At a publication founded by her personal hero and sometime benefactor, no less… 

A loud buzz and the recitation of her name followed by Poe’s credentials, and she’s in.

The building.

Whether or not Poe will like her (or rather, Rose’s) idea has yet to be determined— but he’ll at least listen, that she knows for certain. Poe wouldn’t have invited her over if he had no intention of hearing her out.

“Rey!” Finn’s voice is loud and welcome, in this unfamiliar setting. She turns in time to be swept up in a bear hug— her best friend’s specialty. “Shit, you’re soaking!”

Rey laughs, but her teeth give her away with a chatter. “WYNC lied when they were giving the forecast! I got caught in the downpour earlier.” She grimaces as Finn releases her, stepping back to get a better look.

“I’ve got a shawl at my cubicle— come on, I’ll give you a tour on the way.”

“Okay!” She nervously shoves her hand in her pocket to keep from nibbling at her fingertips. “But aren’t I supposed to be meeting with Poe?”

“Nah, you’ve got time.”

Rey raises her eyebrows, and Finn elaborates.

“The general’s just pulled Poe into her office, so we’ve got at least five minutes before they’re done with whatever they’re discussing.” He takes her free hand and tugs. “Come on, you’re shivering!”

Rey lets Finn lead her to his desk, looking forward to the aforementioned shawl. Probably hand-knit by the man himself in a garish rainbow.

Rey recalls the skein being purchased by Rosie during last year’s Pride sale, at their local yarn shop. Finn was thrilled with the gift, and even Rey had to grin when he immediately wrapped himself in the dyed string.

For all his occasional recalcitrance and grit, Finn’s style is not what one might call “subtle.” But he pulls it off, the brazen display of identity, far better than Rey would. He blames her lack of melanin, and he has a point— she’s downright pasty.

Finn takes her the long way round, and by the time they reach his cubicle and Rey’s wrapped in a cozy, colorful covering, she spots Poe exiting his boss’s office.

Rey has to actively shove aside her excitement, re: physical proximity to THE Leia Organa, founder of RESISTANCE and feminist philanthropist.

After that, she’s still left with a load of nerves. Pitching to investigative reporters is an anxious business! The added prospect of going undercover puts pterodactyls, not butterflies, in her belly.

Poe saunters over like he’s god’s gift to man, and based on her best friend’s shift in posture, she can see Finn unironically agrees with this assessment.

Poor thing. If it weren’t for Paige, he might actually have a chance! Finn’s a good looking guy, and his personality is priceless. Maybe she should ask Paige if she’d ever consider polyamory…

Or _maybe_ she should focus on the task at hand.

“Rey Niima,” Poe announces, flashing her a winning smile. “It’s been too long.”

Rey smiles shyly back at him, suppressing a flutter of aforementioned pterodactyls. “It’s good to see you, Dameron.”

Poe claps a hand on Finn’s shoulder, and Rey can see her friend torn between joy and agony.

“C’mon, let’s take this party someplace a little more private.”

Finn nods in mute agreement. Rey finds herself whisked off to a glass-walled office on the right side of the floor. The plaque lists Poe’s name and credentials in muted silver, she notes, as she passes the held-open door. Poe ushers Finn in behind her, causing the other man to duck beneath his outstretched arm. When the two friends are safely inside the spacious yet scattered office space, Poe crosses the threshold, closing the door behind him in one smooth movement.

The lock clicks, Poe’s expression hardens, and Rey understands Finn’s attraction to this cock-sure, confident man. Understands, but doesn’t feel the same, for reasons obscure and strange.

Nothing to do with a certain stranger, that’s for sure…

Looking alive and alert, Poe invites them both to take a seat on the worn-out leather couch that occupies a quarter of the room. Rey glances to her right and sees the intersection of Mercer and Broome. The sky is starting to clear.

“Now,” Poe begins, lowering himself into a comfortable looking armchair. He crosses one ankle over his knee, and leans back with his fingers spread over each arm. Absently, Rey realizes he resembles a pilot in a roomy cockpit. “How ‘bout you start from the beginning. What do you, Rey Niima, want from us, here at RESISTANCE?”

Ten minutes into their conversation, Rey understands why Paige jokingly calls Poe “the Commander.” It’s not a sex thing, as she’d uncomfortably assumed— well, maybe it is, but that’s not all it is. Poe speaks with the authority of a military commander. His ability to strategize, weigh the risks, costs, and benefits, is unlike anything she’s ever seen in a man.

No wonder he heads the investigative division. No wonder Leia Organa trusts him to make the right decisions.

And he’s decided to take her up on her offer.

“We’re not sending you in there alone,” he warns Rey, leaning back in his chair with all the ease of earned authority. He nods in the direction of the file on the table. “Open that up, you’ll find a picture of your partner.”

Rey does as she’s told, spreading the manila folder until it lies flat before her. There’s a stack of paper inside, thinner than she’d expected.

Clipped to the first page is a headshot, glossy and neat. Dark skin, darker hair, the latter all curl and kink. No smile, no nonsense. Just determination, and an air of experience.

Lovely eyes, Rey notes, then casts the thought aside. This is work, not play— and besides, she’s already got her heart set on someone. For better or for worse…

The person’s name is scrawled on the white edge of the photograph, along with her pronouns. “Who is this Jannah, and why doesn’t she have a last name?”

“Need to know, and you can read all about her on the accompanying fact sheet. I’ll summarize, though, since we’re short on time.” Poe waits until Rey’s finished perusing the picture, and raises her head to meet his eyes. The contact is intense, focused. A sharp green stare that seems at once to assess and reassure her.

“Jannah’s not employed by RESISTANCE, but she works with us frequently enough to earn a place on the masthead. Not that she wants that kind of recognition— it would ruin her career.”

“What do you mean?” Rey feels like she’s in over her head again. A frisson of fear, or maybe it’s self-doubt, shakes her earlier sense of strength and determination. She glances at Finn for reassurance.

_You can do this,_ his steady gaze and slight nod communicate.

Rey flashes him a ghost of a smile in return. _Just relax and listen_ , she reminds herself. _Don’t be intimidated; these are the good guys._

Poe doesn’t miss a beat, but he ignores the exchange, keeping his eyes on Rey as he resumes speaking. “Jannah’s independent, works the jobs she wants— not the ones she’s assigned. She’s an expert, self-taught, and she’s never blown a cover.”

“Wow,” Rey mouths, more than impressed.

“Wow, indeed,” Poe continues, and a fond grin flickers briefly across his face. “What I’m trying to tell you is you’ll be okay— you’re not going in alone or unprepared. And anyway, Jannah’s got the more difficult job of the two.”

“What do you mean?” Rey has to sit on her hands so she doesn’t bite her nails.

“She’ll be going in at the factory level. Working the floor for a few weeks or months— however long it takes for the two of you to wrap this up.”

“She’s willing to do that? Knowing what we know?”

Poe laughs, and leans forward in his chair, resting his bared forearms on his thighs. “Rey, the thrill of the chase is half the reason we play this game. Hell, I’d be going with her, if I could.”

_Thrill. Chase. Game. Play._ These words are foreign to Rey, in this context. Never mind that she’s used them a hundred times in her advertisements. How could anyone enjoy this line of work? She’s already nauseous and she hasn’t even signed the contract.

“Why can’t you do it? Why do you even need me, anyway?” She tries not to let the panic dictate her tone, but her questions are climbing octaves as she asks them.

Poe smiles wryly and shakes his head. “Because they already know who I am, and what I look like. We’ve tried to infiltrate _First Order_ before, but the operation was a failure. Holdo had to bail me out— literally.”

Poe’s gaze softens a little, as it seeks hers out again, and once more Rey understands Finn’s attraction to this man. She still doesn’t feel it though— no, all she feels anymore is _him_.

The stranger. Her mystery man. His absence, actually.

Rey swallows and finds her throat dry. Parched. She takes a sip of the tepid tea in front of her, but that assuages only the superficial aspect.

Rey’s thirsty for something else altogether. And until that something strolls on back to her pop-up, she’ll be stuck in the desert with the mirage that’s his memory.

Feeling the blush begin to spread, Rey realizes she needs to change the course of her thoughts before they start to show on her face. She’d like to avoid that kind of confusion in this situation.

“But why me?” She returns to her earlier vein.

Finn answers her, his voice gruff with disuse and (she suspects) disdain. “Because _they_ want you.”

Poe concurs. “And because we don’t have anyone else with your skillset.”

“But my inexperience…”

“Is irrelevant. You’re not a spy, 007. Not in the way the movies make it out to be.” Poe’s teasing her now, once again leaning back like a lion at rest. “Your job is to do your job— lead their design team, for a while. Poke around in Ren’s office if given the opportunity, pay attention to any misbehavior or malpractice you might see, and occasionally report back to me.”

He smiles, all easy confidence, and she’s reminded again of a pilot in a cockpit. Poe belongs on the set of _Top Gun,_ not stuck in this cluttered office. “Easy?” He asks, expecting an affirmative.

Rey swallows, hard, summoning confidence to match his. “Easy,” she answers, her voice shaky but her resolve steady.

Poe leans across the room, offering her his hand to shake. Rey takes it firmly in hers. Finn watches her face with barely concealed anxiety.

_What has Rey gotten herself into…?_


	8. Emails and Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ben receives an email, sends an email, and somehow convinces himself that Adam & Eve weren't fools for fooling around in Genesis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little shorter than usual, as it's more of a connector than anything. hope you're enjoying my attempts to pull together a plot (not my forte).

From: Rey Niima [Rey@RebelleToys.com](mailto:Rey@RebelleToys.com)

To: Kylo Ren [Ren@FirstOrderEnterprises.com](mailto:Ren@FirstOrderEnterprises.com)

Subject: Re: Join Me

Mr. Ren,

Thank you for your offer, which I was (admittedly) a little surprised to receive. Regardless of my initial reaction, however, I am pleased to accept the position in question. I can start as soon as next Monday, if that suits!

Why don’t we meet for lunch this week, to discuss contract and compensation— as well as conflicts of interest (namely, my existing business). I’ll bring my lawyer, to expedite the process, if you’ll bring a copy of said contract for his inspection.

There’s a lovely little bistro on the corner of King St., by the name of _Tatooine_. Tunisian fare, entirely vegan. Let’s say… noon, on Friday? Feel free to reschedule— I’m flexible.

Rey

Rebelle Toys

W. 3rd & Sullivan St.

_~Join The Rebellion~_

* * *

Ben swallows hard as he reads the last line of Rey’s email.

She’s _flexible_.

And he’s _unprofessional_ , because his cock just twitched. While reading an innocuous sentence in a work-related email written by a relative stranger. Whom he is in the process of hiring. _Christ._

More than ever, the importance of his “Kylo Ren” facade is impressed upon Ben. Rey can never know who he really is, can never catch a glimpse of the man behind the curtain. Ben _cannot_ let his mask crack.

But he wants to, so very badly. He wants to let her in. Which is a first— and which ought to be a red flag, frankly, for him. A sign that he should rescind his generous offer and run. (It’s not too late— she hasn’t signed a contract…)

For a brief second he entertains the idea of doing just that. But in his imagination, no matter the direction in which he runs, he always ends up in her arms.

_Fuck._

Ben is fucked. (Not literally, unfortunately.) And it’s his fault, entirely.

He’s the one who approached her storefront, the one who struck up a conversation, the one who flirted and fawned and failed to reveal his identity. It was his idea to hire her, his fingertips that typed out the email to which she has just replied. It’s his fault she knows him as two different men, who both want her— but for two very different reasons…

Not for the first time, Ben curses the elaborate ruse that is “Kylo Ren.” A juvenile attempt to strike out on his own, prove his power as a businessman, liberate himself from the legacy of his family. His mother knows who he is, of course, and his assistant and several of the high ranking staff. But no one else. Not even his father, who thinks he works in finance.

Ben groans, pressing his palms against his eyelids until the day is dark. He’s tempted to text Phaz, or better yet tell her to draft his response. But some part of him won’t let go of the opportunity to converse with his dream girl, albeit incognito.

He pulls himself up until his posture’s correct, running one large hand through his unkempt locks. Leia would say he needs a cut, but Ben rather likes his hair this length. Hides his ears, at the very least. (“Dumbo” was just one of many cruel monikers given to him by other children.)

Back to the business at hand.

Ben hums tunelessly as he brainstorms the best response. He’ll have to decline her invitation to dine, of course. He’d like to have lunch with her more than anything, and more than anything, lunch with her would be sure to ruin him (by revealing his dual persona).

Still… A snake-like voice in the back of his mind nudges him to throw caution to the wind, serving up a sneaky alternative. What if he took her out for lunch, after all? No one would have to know. Just one bite of the apple, so to speak, and he’d know all— she’d be out of his system (sexually, at least).

That’s how it’s always been with Ben and women (and, occasionally, people who are not women). His history is entirely comprised of one night stands. His attraction to others seems to diminish, the better he gets to know them. This Rey might seem special, her hair might shine and her eyes might sparkle, but there’s no way she’s strong enough to even dent an ironclad pattern.

So, as though his name is Adam and his apartment overlooks not Washington Square Park but the edge of Eden, Ben reaches for the forbidden fruit that inspiration has offered him.

Just one bite, and no one will be the worse or the wiser…

He’ll send this email, along with a contract for her to sign. Then he’ll treat Rey to a little afternoon delight. The latter as himself— Ben, not Kylo Ren.

It’s a brilliant plan, really. She won’t even be his employee yet, technically! She’ll never find out who he really is, because he’ll never let her see Kylo Ren around the office. And best of all, she’ll be out of his head, out of his heart, out of his system. Who knows, he might even sniff out her flaws— everyone has them— and they might just turn out to be turn offs. Problem solved!

It’s settled. Instead of lunch with Kylo Ren, she’ll have the whole afternoon alone with Ben. Which, well, he’s fairly confident she’ll say yes to. Ben saw desire in those doe-eyes. And it wasn’t just a reflection of his own attraction.

_Thank fuck for one night (day?) stands._

Pleased with his convoluted logic, and ignoring the alarm bells ringing red in his head, Ben types out a response to Rey’s email and hits send.

* * *

From: Kylo Ren [Ren@FirstOrderEnterprises.com](mailto:Ren@FirstOrderEnterprises.com)

To: Rey [Rey@RebelleToys.com](mailto:Rey@RebelleToys.com)

CC: Personal Assistant [Phasma@FirstOrderEnterprises.com](mailto:Phasma@FirstOrderEnterprises.com)

Subject: Re: Re: Join Me

Dear Rey,

Allow me to express my unalloyed pleasure at your accepting my offer. Monday it is.

While I would be delighted to dine with you (and your lawyer) on Friday, I’m afraid some last minute business engagements have rendered my calendar uncooperative this week. Please accept my sincere regrets.

I’ve copied my assistant, Gwen Phasma, on this email; she will send you a draft of your contract before the end of the day. Please review it with your lawyer present and feel free to contact medirectly with any questions you have or changes you’d like to make. If you decide the document needs no alteration, please sign, scan, and return an electronic copy of the contract to my assistant as soon as possible.

You’ve made the right choice, Rey. You won’t regret this— that I can promise.

Yours,

Kylo

Kylo Ren

CEO, Founder

_First Order_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy pride, ben isn't straight!


	9. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quickie in which Ben finally asks Rey out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry! Major writer's block. I'm going to follow up with another short chapter soon to make up for it. This is unedited BTW, apologies for that and the awkward brevity of it.

_~You know it seems the more we talk about it / It only makes it worse to liiiive without it…~_

The Beach Boys’ dulcet tones filter through the static on Rey’s wind up radio; she made it when she was thirteen and it’s lasted this long, so it might just last forever. She’s not paying attention to the music though, however apt the lyrics are.

True, Rey’s been thinking about the stranger from the other morning nonstop for the past four days. Truer still, that thinking about him only makes it worse every second he doesn’t show up at her shop.

_~Wouldn’t it be nice…~_

It’s a slow Saturday for _Rebelle,_ despite the crowds spilling out from the busy park a block away. Business is bad, but Rey’s distracted. Instead of tending to the register with her usual enthusiasm, she’s reviewing Amilyn’s comments on the draft of the contract Ren’s assistant sent over. The lawyer has a few suggestions to make, regarding the clauses on cause of termination and retention of rights to designs, but overall deems the document sound and says Rey should sign as soon as she feels comfortable.

Rey’s scanning a section on workplace conduct and fraternization when she gets that feeling again. The one from the day before yesterday, when she’d met the man with the coal black eyes and the knowing smile. A shiver, unprompted, shimmies down her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, awareness flooding her system.

She pushes off the display case she’s been leaning against, her back to the street, and spins around so fast she slips. Or maybe it’s the sight of him, the seductive stranger from two days before, that has Rey catching herself against the countertop. Her fingers fumble for purchase on the smooth, carefully scratch-free glass.

Unexpectedly close, he reaches out a hand to steady her, catching her wrist in a loose circle before letting go. Rey’s heart stutters at the contact, his palm lightly calloused against her smooth forearm. Those are the hands of a craftsman, a creator, not a businessman. A creator of what, Rey scarcely has time to wonder, before his smile takes her breath away.

“Rey?” His expression is quizzical but amused, his lips quirked in questioning pleasure. She’s lost in the way his baritone caresses the letters that spell her name. Flattered by the fact that he remembers it. Or at least, she hopes he has. There’s always a chance he’s just reading her name tag..

“H-hi!” Her greeting is cut short when she realizes she doesn’t know what to call him. An awkward silence ensues as she stares at him expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the blank, but his brow just furrows in confusion. Has he forgotten he’s got the advantage here?

~ _Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wake up / In the morning when the day is new?~_

The stranger blushes, briefly and inexplicably, as if the lyrics remind him of some sordid, secret thing. Rey can’t figure out for the life of her what’s so embarrassing or elusive about mornings— unless it’s the romantic nature of the lyric to which he objects. Biting her lip, she dials down the volume. When Rey glances up at him again, realization has dawned at last on his dramatic features.

“You don’t know my name, do you?” His voice is low, rich, and just a little bit mischievous.

Rey shakes her head, holding his gaze. The stranger’s expression turns contrite, but his eyes don’t lose that sneaky sparkle.

“It’s Ben,” he offers, as casually as one might toss an empty metro card. But Rey feels like she’s been handed the pin to an off-shore bank account, and memorizes the monosyllable as if it really is that valuable.

“Ben,” she murmurs, testing the taste of it. Rey relishes the quick press of her lips, the flick of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. _Ben…_

“Ben,” he says once more, as if to confirm it. 

Tentatively, Rey reaches out a hand for Ben to shake, hoping he won’t see her bitten fingernails or notice the slight tremor of anticipation in her wrist. He clasps her fingers in his, engulfing her hand with his gigantic one. Rey feels tiny, elfin by comparison.

There’s reluctance in the movement, when their hands pull apart. Rey misses his warmth, his encompassing grip. She wonders briefly where else he might apply that same, strong touch and feels a familiar arousal flicker forth from embers that had never quite cooled after their last encounter.

“ _Golden Oldies_?” He asks to fill the silence that accompanies her musings, slipping his other, equally large hand free of his trousers’ pocket to gesture towards the beat-up radio on the counter. It takes Rey a minute to register the fact that he’s referring to a station. (Not the one she’s listening to, though.)

Cut a girl some slack— she’s still wrapping her mind around the single syllable that is his name, and the sensation of her hand swallowed up by his.

As she remains half in reverie, the final verse of “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” fades out and the equally iconic opening lines of “Daydream Believer” start in. Another apt track, and Rey rather suspects that she’s the dreamer here. Certainly, she’s never been voted homecoming queen…

Ben quirks a dark brow, still waiting on her response. Coming to her senses, Rey spins the volume dial to a lull.

“Um, no, actually, it’s _Coruscant Classics_.” She smiles sheepishly, however, and admits that _Golden Oldies_ is a favorite, too.

“And here I thought you a modern woman,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a half-smile that’s hotter than an August afternoon. “What with all your toys and tinkering…”

Rey laughs quietly, taking no offense at the term “tinkering” because it’s obvious he respects her work. He’s said as much, several times, and he’s the most attentive not-quite-customer she’s ever met.

Ben’s gaze wanders her figure— or whatever he can see above the counter— his eyes assessing, his expression approving. Rey shivers beneath that caressing stare. If she’s not careful, she’ll be drawn deep into those twin black holes— and then, well, who knows…

After a moment in which the air starts to feel charged— electric, even— Ben blinks twice and breaks the burgeoning tension to the best of his ability. Which is to say, not significantly.

He glances up at her face through fine lashes, his gaze turned confessional. “Honestly, Rey? I can’t begin to express how impressed I remain by the “tour” you gave me the other day. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he continues, leaning closer and speaking in a low, confiding tone, “but I haven’t stopped thinking about you since— and not for lack of trying.”

Mesmerized by his honesty, hypnotized by his proximity, Rey closes her eyes and tries to process this revelation that changes everything. She inhales the midnight scent of him, that subtle yet unforgettable blend of smoke and spice. Absently, she wonders if there’s a way to sneak a question about his cologne into their conversation— so that she’ll never have to go without that scent. Somehow she doesn’t think she’d be able to afford a bottle… Somehow, she doesn’t think it would smell the same on her pillow…

“W-what do you mean?” She asks a little breathlessly, opening her eyes at last. Rey blinks in the bright sunlight as she replays his words rapid-fire in her head, again and again.

Ben laughs quietly, and his smile turns self-deprecating. “I mean, my colleagues have been complaining that I’ve stopped working and started…” he cocks his head, listening to the music for a moment, before continuing, “Daydreaming.”

Rey flushes with pleasure, biting her lip to stop herself from beaming. She had no idea she’d had such an effect on him…

It’s only fair though, given that his mere memory has scattered her brain beyond use and earned Rey late-night complaints from her roommate. (Apparently her vibes are whisper-quiet, as usual, but her cries… well, they’re worse than passing sirens.)

“But what good are dreams, when reality’s within reach?” Ben challenges himself suddenly.

_Within reach?_ Rey surreptitiously eyes his arms, mentally estimating the length of them— among other things. _Yeah, she’s within reach._

“So that’s why you’re back, Ben…” She narrows her eyes assessingly and tilts her face up on an angle with his. “To seize the daydream?”

He laughs at her play on words, and Rey swears she’s never heard a sweeter sound than that low, vibrant chuckle. Suppressing a shiver, Rey places one hand on her cocked hip, hoping to appear hesitant, instead of how she really feels (head over heels).

When he doesn’t immediately answer, Rey frowns. She wants to hear him say it, that he _wants_ her, in no uncertain terms. So, Rey baits him a little. “But if that’s not the case, then, Ben…” She smiles in a simpering mockery of her sales pitch, slipping into the voice, too. (Anything to hide the disappointment she feels at his lack of affirmation that he’s here for her, and her alone.) “What _can_ I do for you?”

Ben responds with a cocky grin. He knows the game she’s playing. Those full lips part and Rey’s toes curl in anticipation. Rather than a declaration, however, he returns an obscure request: “Two things.”

“Oh?”

“ _Oh_.”

The single syllable is full of intent, and Rey feels hope flare in her heart again. The space between them sizzles like a sparkler. “And these two things would be?”

“Go on a date with me.”

Rey is shocked into ecstatic silence, and simply stares at Ben while he continues talking. Is this real? Or just a delirious daydream? She pinches herself surreptitiously below her hem.

“And,” Ben goes on in an confident tone, as if Rey’s not in the middle of an existential crisis, “show me the Star Wars collection you’ve been teasing on Etsy. I’ve seen your advertisements and they’re quite compelling, but the products themselves are shrouded in sold-out mystery.” His smile turns regretful. “According to reviews, they’re out of stock as soon as they’re in stock… But I seem to recall your mentioning something about showing me the collection the first time we met— before work called me away. Does that ring a bell?” 

Oh, it rings a bell alright. In some distant, derelict belfry in her brain. Because as much as Rey would love to lure in a potential customer with the promise of a galaxy far, far away… she’s too busy replaying the first proposition Ben made to pay any attention to the second.

Rey shakes her head, trying to startle some sense back into herself. “Sorry about that,” she says, conscious of her shocked silence extending well past the socially acceptable mark. “Did— did you just ask me out?”

Ben nods, his big hands slotted loosely in his trousers’ pockets. The corner of his mouth turns up in a confident smirk.

“ _You_ want to go out on a _date_ with _me_?” She tries and fails to smother her shocked pleasure.

Ben nods again, and his knowing smile grows.

“A girl you’ve known for all of fifteen minutes, total? A girl you met selling sex toys on the street?”

He’s grinning, by now. When it’s clear that she has no further questions, he finally parts his full lips to speak. “Including today’s conversation, I’d argue for twenty. And there’s nothing unattractive about a woman at work…”

Rey laughs softly, and the sound is slightly crazed. After a moment’s staring contest (which, of course, he wins) she looks down at her feet in disbelief. Why is she fighting this so hard? Isn’t this what she wants? Isn’t it what she’s wanted since he first walked down her block?

(No, technically she’s wanted him to fuck her dry against the display cases without so much as , but Rey supposes in the absence of sex, a date will more than do.)

He waits while she allows herself to imagine this. “Is that a no?”

Rey returns to reality. “No…”

“But it’s not a yes…?” His lips are beginning to lose their curve, his eyes their confident gleam. More than anything, he seems confused.

Rey decides to cut him some slack— and take the plunge (hopefully the one that leads straight into the sack…) “That depends.”

Ben’s brows knit together and Rey’s fingers itch to smooth the fresh lines from his forehead. “Depends on what?”

She thinks back to her first text to Rose, all those days ago. “Are you a serial killer?”

“What?!” His eyes are wide, a little wild, and he takes a half step back.

Rey nearly keels over trying to keep a straight face. “A simple yes or no will suffice, Ben.”

“I’m just struggling to understand your logic here—” He looks flustered, and a little scared, she notes with satisfaction.

“Are. You. A. Serial. Killer. ?” She repeats the question slowly, enunciating each word as though there’s a language barrier between them.

“No!” A nearby pigeon takes off, startled by Ben’s outburst.

“No need to get defensive about a basic question,” she teases him.

“I wasn’t getting defen—”

“Safety first!” She blurts out, laughter bubbling up and spilling over.

“What?” He lowers his voice, glancing around in belated embarrassment.

“Oh my gosh,” Rey cries, heedless of passerbys, “the tips of your ears are turning red!”

Ben claps his huge hands over them, his cheekbones a shade of crimson.

Rey realizes she’s called attention to something he’s probably quite self-conscious about, and rushes to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I probably shouldn’t have pointed that out… And the serial killer thing’s just an inside joke between me and my best friend. Admittedly, not terribly “inside” now that I’ve told you.” He relaxes a little as she babbles on, lowering his hands to his pockets. “Still, a girl can’t be _too_ careful…”

(Especially a girl with exactly no “chill” … )

A minute of mangled explanations later, Ben finally raises his eyes to meet hers again. There’s a grin on his face, and a glimmer in his eye, and he doesn’t seem to mind her mindless ramblings. Rey stops mid sentence, and it’s her turn to be self-conscious, because he starts to laugh, low and rumbling in his belly. 

“Rey,” he says softly, his upper hand returned. “You still haven’t given me a straight answer.”

She flushes. “I haven’t?”

His expression is amused, although a trace of his former nervousness lingers in the lines around his eyes. “No,” he replies.

“Yes,” she counters.

“No, you haven’t.” His voice is firm, and Ben shakes shakes his head in apparent disbelief. He must have mistaken her monosyllable.

“ _Yes_ ,” she repeats, “as in, ‘Yes, I’ll go on a date with you…’” Slowly, so he gets it.

“Oh.” Ben appears a bit flummoxed by her answer.

Rey cocks her head to one side. “Did you want me to say no?”

“No!”

She suppresses a smile. “Hmm…”

Ben blushes faintly, although his ears remain distinctly flesh-coloured this time around. “I’m sorry, I got lost for a second there.” With a slow shake of his head, he recovers his composure. “You’re quite the conversationalist, Rey.”

Her brows draw together in skeptical confusion. “Is that so?”

“I’ve enjoyed the past five minutes more than the past twenty four hours total.”

“Your ears tell another story…” Rey teases. “Kidding!” She exclaims on seeing his expression, then mutters to herself, “God, Rose’s going to kill me if I muck this up…”

“What was that?” He asks, not missing a beat.

“Oh, nothing— just talking to myself instead of the hot stranger in front of me, like any sane woman would.” Rey flashes him a winning grin, one that falters when she realizes she’s just told him what she thinks of him.

He takes her comment in stride, however, and responds in a teasing murmur. “I hardly think I qualify as a stranger, Rey. Besides the fact that we’re now on a first name basis and you’ve already agreed to go on a date with me…” His murmur becomes a whisper, and he leans in as if to share some secret. “… You’ve seen my ears turn pink.”

Rey can’t help herself, she lets out a peal of laughter.

“It’s a privileged view,” he adds with mock sobriety.

Rey’s tempted to lean in closer, and trace the shell-like curve sticking out from between dark layers. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s quite a pretty shade! Or is that too emasculating…”

Ben huffs out a laugh. “The only emasculating thing about this conversation is the fact that you’ve managed to compliment me twice while I’ve completely failed to comment on your beauty.” Ben pauses for effect, watching her carefully. “Breathtaking, by the way.”

If anyone’s breath is getting taken away, it’s Rey’s, after that compliment. She stammers out a simple thank you.

“You’re very welcome, Rey.” And he says it like he means it.

Rey realizes now just how close they still are together, what with his leaning across the counter, and her practically falling over herself to meet him halfway. She sways closer, wondering if he’ll close the gap between their lips— when Rey’s elbow nudges the volume dial and the radio suddenly blares back to life, jolting them out of what would have been a cross-counter kiss. Rey’s never had one of those before…

She clears her throat, setting her palms against the cool countertop. “Now that the question of your taking me out is settled—”

“More or less,” he murmurs, as if he’s keen to argue about the particulars.

Rey bulldozes on. “And as there are no customers in sight—”

“Their loss,” he interjects under his breath.

She smiles indulgently at his continued impertinence. “Would you like an all-access tour of my stellar Star Wars collection?”

He perks up immediately.

“Luckily for you, “ she continues with a smirk, "it’s back in stock.”

~ _Happy times together we’ve been spending_

_I wish that every kiss was never-ending…_

_Oh, wouldn’t it be nice?~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the SW collection(!), and a kiss or two.


	10. The Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey shows Ben the Star Wars Collection. Restrained horniness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever, but I had this in my drafts and wanted to get it out there.

Ben grins as Rey pulls out a key from her pocket and holds it up for him to see. Its grooves catch the afternoon sun and send light shining in ten different directions. “Give me a second,” she says, flashing him a smile that sends sparks down his spine.

He wishes he could bottle her brightness, brandish it like Sam did starlight, to banish bad days and the occasional blues. And maybe a giant spider or two…

(Exactly one person in this world is aware of his phobia, and that would be Ben’s mother, Leia.)

Rey drops to her knees, presumably, disappearing behind the counter for a second, just as she said. The image is potent in Ben’s imagination, and Ben struggles to pull his mind from sinful alternatives to her current task— from fantasies of scraped knees and swollen lips, curling fingers and three stacked buns seen from above…

When Rey straightens, she’s hefting a locked case and her hair is slightly disheveled. Ben wants to reach across the counter and tuck the stray strands behind her ear. But they’re not quite there… And besides, she’s about to show him something truly brilliant, a masterpiece of her own design.

Ben’s fanboy-fanatical interest in the contents of the case wins out against his all-consuming attraction to the woman carrying said case, if only for a second.

Rey sets the silver carrier down atop the counter, spinning it carefully so the lock faces her. She inserts the key and Ben listens for the click, enthusiasm rendering him uncharacteristically giddy.

_God, she’s going to regret saying yes to a date with someone as nerdy as he._

“Are you ready?” She asks unnecessarily, grinning with pride and glee. Her eyes are wide with excitement, but surely not as wide as his— Ben’s briefly mesmerized by flecks of gold in her irises, revealed by the low angle of the sun. 

With a mental shake of his head, Ben drags his mind down from hazel-hued fantasy. He’s ready as he’ll ever be, so he nods once, decisively.

“A long time ago,” she begins as the case opens, “in a galaxy far, far away…”

Ben sees bright colors and bold shapes, cocooned like little nebulas in an expansive of protective black backing. Rey gently sets the top side, itself packed with toys, down flat on the countertop, leaving the case open wide.

“A girl named Rey had an idea for a custom-design sex toy line,” she finishes in the same hushed tone— as if she, too, is entranced by her colorful handiwork— then she glances up at him. His expression must show his awe, because she giggles— a silvery, spritely sound that Ben wants to spin into silk for his sheets.

“Do you like what you see?” She asks, and the question is an artless innuendo, accidental yet honest. Ben looks at the riot of curves and colors lying before him on the counter, then back at Rey, who’s blushing a freckled pink, bashful beneath his scrutiny.

 _No._ “Yes,” he answers, at last. _Ben more than “likes” what he sees._

Rey’s cheeks flush crimson in a flash of pleasure at his monosyllabic praise. Perhaps she heard the unspoken message, contradicting his sentence of a single word. Perhaps she understood that he was answering her innuendo— however unintended her double meaning, his was deliberate.

Whatever the case, however, within a few seconds, Rey recovers. Shyly smiling, she lifts one hand and crooks her index finger. Ben’s caught on the curl, and steps even closer. He has to bend a little at the neck to fit beneath the bright pink awning.

“Let’s get you familiar with the product,” she murmurs, gesturing at the selection of toys. Ben’s mouth waters— at the prospect of seeing the collection, sure— but, more likely, at her sultry words. He’d love to become acquainted with the selection in front of him, and he can conjure a thousand fantasies in which she “familiarizes” Ben with them.

Rey reaches into the case and removes a miniature lightsaber, thicker than a scale replica would be. The handle is black and silver, with buttons and a switch that actually look like they work. The “blade” is a pale blue— that is, until Rey flips the switch. Suddenly, the “blade” lights up and begins to shake, ever so slightly. Ben hears a faint buzz, not unlike the sound emitted by a real lightsaber.

Answering a question Ben had yet to ask, Rey says, “I opted for a louder motor, her my whisper-silent design. It felt more important to be true to the films, in this case— besides, customers really seem to enjoy the experience.” Then she quirks a mischievous smirk and ups the power with a press of a button on the shaft. “Hold out your hand, Ben.”

He does as she commands, shrugging off the unsettling suspicion that he’d do whatever she asked him to, without a second thought. Ben’s cuff slides back to reveal his pale wrist, extended beyond the fabric of his suit and monogrammed shirt. He’s uncertain as to whether or not he ought to turn his palm up, and settles for down, figuring she’ll adjust him as necessary— hoping she’ll gift him with her touch.

Rey rewards his uncertainty, leaning in and gently rotating his hand until the soft pink flesh of his palm faces the awning. She shivers a little at the contact— or perhaps it’s Ben, suppressing a shudder of desire. Then, her brown eyes holding his, she slowly presses the shaft of the vibrator toBen’s sensitive skin.

Ben sucks in a breath and can’t help but break eye contact as he stares at the blue silicon, glowing faintly in the afternoon sun, where it thrums at the heart of his open hand. Buzzing vibrations spiral out from the center of his palm, until his whole hand is relaxed and the tension in his forearm is replaced by electric tingles. Ben closes his eyes briefly, feeling Rey’s stare still fixed on his face, immersing himself for a moment in this motorized bliss.

If her vibrators are this good against a man’s palm, Ben can’t imagine how fucking fantastic they must feel, buzzing and rumbling and thrumming their way along someone’s shaft or anus or nipple or clit— not to mention the thousand other erogenous zones one could experiment with.

Ben’s sporting a semi just thinking about it…

He opens his eyes in time to see Rey flip the off-switch. “I call that one ‘The Skywalker,’” she says, her smiling knowing and her eyes narrowed in delight.

“Hence the hue,” Ben answers, his voice a little gruff, as if from disuse.

“Exactly!” She beams, and quickly wipes the toy down before replacing it in the case. “As you may have noticed, despite the daylight, the ‘blade’ glows when in use.” She laughs a little, a mixture of self-deprecation and pride, adding, “The tagline for that particular toy is, ‘ _See_ _(the) stars_.’”

Ben laughs at the hot-yet-heartfelt pun, which for him conjures images of Luke and Anakin, leaving Tatooine to live among the stars of which they always dreamed. “What’s next among the limited editions?”

Rey grins and answers, “Well, the collection is designed, like all my others, to be inclusive of all body types and sexual preferences. The second toy I created, keeping that mission in mind, was ‘The Vader.’ I’ll bet you can guess the tagline,” she adds, blushing like a binary sunset.

Ben quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. He thinks for a moment before responding, his voice gravelly and low. “‘ _Who’s your daddy?’”_ He’s playing along with his best guess, but he’s also testing a theory of his.

True to Ben’s hopes and expectations, Rey’s eyes widen and she bites her lip. Peering surreptitiously over the counter, Ben sees her press her thighs together and suppress some kind of shiver. The goosebumps on her bare arms, however, give her arousal away. Ben grins shamelessly. “I was right, then?”

Rey nods shakily, and he watches her throat constrict in a tight swallow. _Christ_ , he wishes she were swallowing his cum…

She squeezes her eyes tight for a second, as if to dispel some overwhelming mental image, and Ben takes advantage of her averted gaze to adjust his growing erection. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up, before he has to either leave to take care of things down there or solicit an invitation into the privacy of her backroom… Somehow, he doubts he’s getting lucky before their date.

When they’re both more or less recovered, Rey lets him examine the toy in question. It’s a crimson plug sporting a hand-painted, lightsaber-shaft grip whose vent-like extensions function as a base— keeping anal play safe. He compliments her ingenuity, what with the “vents,” and she flushes a pink streak across her cheekbones.

Next up is a kinkier contraption, fittingly called ‘The Emperor,’ with a direct quote of a catchphrase to match (‘ _Good… good!’_ ). Two finger pads hook up to a small battery, strapped with silk to the wrist, and emit zaps of electricity of varying intensities. Ben’s not sure he’d want that anywhere near his cock and balls, but he’d be happy to trail his fingers leisurely along Rey’s thighs, leaving a wake of tingling sensitivity.

Rey shyly dissects the “BDSM for Bounty Hunters” kit for Ben, which includes “carbonite” wrist and ankle cuffs; a body-chain, nipple clamps, and metallic collar combination modeled after Leia’s iconic look (this, she explains, is a collaboration with a local jeweler); a “Sarlacc Kiss” leather flayer; and a How-To guide to safe and consensual erotic asphyxiation (“ _After all, you don’t wanna end up like Jabba…”_ the booklet reads).

Ben’s never been one for hardcore BDSM, but he admires the carefully linked chains and struggles to tamp down his imagination, which is now rendering Rey in a metal bikini and restraints. Her creativity alone arouses him, and he wants to hear more of her clever ideas and fan-favoring marketing.

Rey obliges him, removing a scarlet double-sided dildo from its protective packaging. She runs the soft silicon along the inside of his wrist, all the while explaining the angle of the curves that she herself calculated (Ben’s cock twitches at the thought of Rey straddling another woman, the two of them penetrating each other in ecstasy with a prototype of this very toy.) It’s clearly fashioned after Maul’s saber, and fittingly she’s named it ‘The Sith Apprentice’ — ‘ _You’ll feel more than a Phantom Pleasure…’_ the tagline reads.

“Someone’s been studying the Rule of Two,” Ben remarks casually, earning himself a peal of unexpected laughter from Rey, who remains lovely and luminous in the late sun’s rays.

“Bisexuality is a great advantage in the sex toy industry,” Rey states, the words an admission and a challenge at once.

Pleased to have found himself in like company, Ben responds with a quelling allusion to his own bisexuality. Rey’s smile grows, and for a moment the two of them just stand opposite each other and stare, happy and horny and quietly queer.

“Oh!” Rey evidently has a realization that brings the moment to a natural end. “We’re not done yet,” she says, sheepishly.

“There’s more?” Ben’s impressed already by the vast collection, and can’t help but be curious as to what else this shopgirl’s managed to whip up in the name of sex and Star Wars.

“Just one last thing,” she says, reaching into a pocket on the side of the case that he hadn’t noticed before. “Close your eyes.”

Without hesitating, Ben obeys. He’s never acted so swiftly on somebody else’s whim, but his lids have flickered shut within a second of Rey’s command. There’s something special about this girl, something Ben doesn’t begin to understand. All he knows is he’ll do anything she asks of him.

Which is why, when she tells him to hold out his hand, for the second time that afternoon, he does. Palm up, fingers loose. Two round metal objects, lightweight and cool to touch, land in his outstretched hand. Instinctively, Ben curves his fingers inward, using the pads of his index, middle, and ring fingers to explore the unusual texture.

After all, Rey hasn’t instructed him to open his eyes again.

Ben’s curiosity grows when he locates the tiny craters deliberately marring the surface of each. Just one indent per object, as small as the tip of his pinky and so shallow as to scarcely disrupt the design, but nevertheless distinct.

“What am I holding?” His lips have quirked into a small, curious smile. Mirroring the mischievous little grin that’s Ben would bet his shareholdings is growing on Rey’s upturned face.

“The moon,” she answers, her voice carefully innocent. _Bullshit._

Ben decides to call her on it, and in doing so falls directly into her trap. Clever little Minx. “That’s no moon.”

She lets out a laugh, the sound like chime his grandfather clock makes at the end of the work day. “Alright, alright. Open your eyes!”

Her wish, his command…

Ben blinks in the bright afternoon light, and slowly the world comes back into focus. First, Rey. The most beautiful woman in the world. Stray beams have picked up golden strands in her otherwise mousy brown hair. Ben doesn’t look away from her pixie-like features, her face arrestingly pretty, lit up in amusement. He doesn’t care if he’s starting to stare.

He does, however, care if he makes her uncomfortable. And when she clears her throat, his eyes snap to hers. Luckily he finds no discomfort there, just confused curiosity, like she can’t tell that the very sight of her is a snare. A lure he’s all too happy to fall for.

Rey bites her lip, suppressing an altogether different kind of smile— less playful, more intimate. Her guard is lowering, and it’s taking his walls down with it…

“Aren’t you going to inspect the product?”

Ben remembers the objects in his hand. He glances down and finds, to no great surprise, a set of silver ben wa balls. One is slightly heavier than the other, but otherwise they’re the same shape and size. The same grooved texture, the same tiny crater. Ben feels his face split into a grin as he puts the last piece of the puzzle together. No moon, indeed… They’re miniature Death Stars! Intended to strengthen, rather than destroy, a person’s pelvic floor— and in doing so, enhance orgasm…

The design is really, really clever. And, Rey assures him, the balls are body-safe and weighted within a reasonable range. Besides, she adds, blushing a little, the textured surface increases stimulation— they’ve been known to bring the user to orgasm, alone.

“Well, not entirely alone,” she confesses, pink streaking her cheekbones. “A little clitoral stimulation was required— but the balls brought me halfway there!” Rey claps a hand over her mouth, realizing what she’s just admitted to. Ben’s eyebrows raise, but not in judgment.

“These particular balls, the ones I’m currently caressing?” He runs the pad of his thumb over one of the craters to emphasize his point. Lowering his voice and leaning in until the tension is almost too much to stand, he adds, “You can tell me the truth, Rey. Always…”

Rey studiously avoids eye-contact, fixating on a faint scratch in the glass countertop, until the silence stretches to its breaking point, and Ben’s unbroken stare demands an answer.

“Yes,” she whispers, darting up to look him in the eye. The desire Ben sees there, barely restrained behind hazel bars, strips him bare. Defenseless, breathless, they gaze at one another.

“You mean these,” he fingers the silver balls for her to see, “have been inside of you?” She nods, not looking away but not daring to answer him either. “How recently?”

His question is so quiet, he’d wonder if she even heard it— except for the little gasp she lets out, her eyes widening as her pupils grow dark and round. Hungry, like twin black holes. Ben wants to serve up his soul.

***

“I’ll tell you on Saturday,” she answers him at last, suppressing a shiver. It’s time to bring this conversation to an end, before it takes a turn for the darkly erotic. Rey proffers her palm expectantly. Before she can let loose another command, however, Ben seems to reads her mind, bringing his much larger hand to hover over hers. He lets the balls slide one-by-one into her ready palm; their silvery metal surface has been warmed by his skin and the sun.

As she pulls away to store the ben wa Death Stars in their pouch, Ben’s pinky brushes against hers. A breath of a caress, and were it anyone else she’d call it accidental. But this man is as deliberate as they come. And he’s already made it clear: he wants her.

“It’s a date, then,” he murmurs in that low, dark voice of his. She wonders if she’s the only person whose pussy seems tuned to his particular vibrato, or if the panties of unassuming cashiers all over the city are soaked by the end of every chance conversation with him.

“It’s a date,” she echoes, trying not to notice the slick throb of her folds.

He smiles one last time, a slow curve of closed lips that suggests all sorts of wickedness. His gaze lingers on hers, dark and warm like chocolate melting on her tongue. Rey swallows, struck dumb, and she can almost taste his kiss— the salt of his skin, the sugar of his tongue.

The sweetbitter promise of something that hasn’t happened yet, something still to come.

Rey can’t take another second of this sensual exchange. He’s not even doing anything, and she’s wet for him! Legs clamped together, she strangles a whimper until it slips out a sigh.

“Goodbye, Ben.” The moment is suddenly melancholy, like the breaking of a spell.

Reluctance flickers across his enormous features. “Farewell,” he answers, straightening. “ _Ma_ _belle_ _rebelle_.” The French is corny and Ben’s accent is bad, but his grin is self-deprecating as he begins to walk away, his long legs swallowing the sidewalk in lazy strides.

It’s the golden hour, and the sun lights a glossy halo in his layered locks. Absently, Rey spins the dial on her radio’s volume. The Kinks croon lazily about Ben’s departure, matching lyrics to Rey’s emotional melody:

_He’s taken everything I got…_

_All I’ve got’s this sunny afternoon…_

The next line draws an inadvertent laugh from Rey’s lips. She starts to sing along, shaking her head and hips as she wipes down the countertop and straightens the display. By the time the song hits its bridge, a couple of customers have come along and Rey is forced to turn her attention away from Ben’s receding figure. It’s just as well, as he’s about to turn the corner and disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not sure where this fic is headed, if anywhere, but I've got drafts for more chapters and at least a few sex scenes, so I'm hoping to find it in me to at least finish it off with a bang.


	11. Afternoon Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose takes over the business for the afternoon while Rey and Ben wander around the city, feat. snogging and soft serve.

“Ben!”

This time she sees him first, striding across the central plaza of Washington Square Park. His jacket over one shoulder, he’s wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the better to bear the day’s heat wave. Rey’s stomach flutters at the sight of his exposed forearms, muscular and lightly dusted with dark hair— or so she assumes. Still, she can at least see the lines of finely honed flesh from here.

Rey briefly wonders if Hot Stranger works out at one of those fancy gyms, where they vet members according to how attractive they already are, before deciding that no, Ben probably has his own equipment— too elusive to be seen all sweat-drenched and sexy in public, too considerate to tease any nearby fitness freaks with the sight of those biceps, bulging and bare. Salivating just a little, Rey snaps her attention back to Ben. The real one, not the man who’s taken up residence in her spank bank…

He halts at the sound of her voice, skidding to a stop just in front of the fountain. Rey wonders if the spray is near enough to dampen his shirt, and marvels at his surprised expression. Not because she expects him to be unsurprised by her appearance here, although it’s a block and a half from her place of work, the patch of sidewalk where they were planning to meet. Rather, because every new arrangement of his features amazes her, the varied and diverse ways his face creates new beauty.

“What are you doing here? I thought we’d agreed to meet on Sullivan St.” He sounds almost anxious, more rushed and less authoritative than usual. Is he nervous about their date? Has her last minute change of location upset some carefully constructed calm? Rey wouldn’t have thought Ben’s abundant confidence could be shaken by something so small, albeit unpredictable.

“Um, working?” She grimaces at his crestfallen expression and hurries to explain. “It’s going to be the warmest weekend since September— the park will be crawling with tourists and college students. If I’m lucky, and I stay open all day, I’ll get a 200% boost in sales! I did the math this morning,” she adds, sheepishly.

“What about our date?” His voice is quiet, hinting at hurt.

Rey smiles reassuringly. “You’re early, first of all. And when I said “I” I didn’t really mean me. My friend Rose is going to be here in a minute, and she’ll take over— she owes me a favor, it’s fine— and then I’m free!” She practically beams, before remembering the slight problem of take down. “For the afternoon, that is. I have to be back here by seven to lock up…”

He looks mollified, if a little let down at this last piece of information. “I suppose dinner’s off the table,” he mutters, mostly to himself. The butterflies that appear spontaneously in Rey’s belly every time Ben comes near start to flutter frantically at the idea that he intended their date to extend to include dinner.

“Tonight, maybe,” she murmurs, with all the coy invitation she can muster. “But there are other days in the week…”

Ben’s eyes, usually dark and impenetrable as night, twinkle with the combined light of a constellation. “So there are, Ms. Niima. So there are…”

They just sort of stand there, staring at one another for who knows how long— Rey not even questioning his use of her last name, which she doesn’t remember telling him, but whatever, maybe he’s looked her up on Yelp— until a familiar voice douses the small fire that’s been burning up all the oxygen between them.

“ _Hellooo?_ Rey!” Rose waves a hand in front of her friend’s face. As Rey blinks repeatedly, steadying her breathing, Rose turns to assess Ben, who is in the midst of his own, slow return to reality. Eyeing him up and down without an ounce of shame, she whispers loudly, “So that’s Hot Stronger, huh?”

Rey blushes profusely, certain that Ben heard his nickname. Sure enough, a curious smirk paired with one raised brow confirms her worst suspicions. “Ro- _ose_ …” She whispers back, half-pleading, half-punitive, widening her eyes and pinching Rose’s arm. Her silent request for a little more discretion goes unanswered.

Instead, Rose turns back from her brief appraisal with raised brows and an open mouth. She gives Rey two thumbs up. “And here I thought you were exaggerating about the jawline…”

Rey buries her face in her hands as Ben starts to chuckle. “Why thank you, Rose.” He uses her name deliberately, as if committing it to memory. Then he returns his gaze, hotter than a forest fire, to Rey. He echoes Rose: “Hot Stranger, huh?”

She winces, and starts to apologize. “I didn’t know your name! I’m sorry, it was unprofessional and—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he cuts her off with a wicked grin. “I’m flattered you find me attractive.”

Rey rolls her eyes just a little. “Don’t act like you didn’t already know it.”

“I just have one question,” he interrupts, directing his speech at Rose as well.

“Only one?” She asks, while Rey remains silent.

Ben smiles indulgently. “For the moment.”

“Shoot.”

“What will you call me now that I’m no longer a stranger?”

“Ben…” Rey’s pleading with him, but Ben takes her plea as an answer.

“A little uncreative, don’t you think?” He turns to asks Rose.

“Finn and I will workshop it,” she agrees, not bothering to explain who Finn is.

“I’m in good hands, then,” he answers, flashing Rey’s friend a conspiratorial grin.

Rose beams right back at him, craning her neck to meet his gaze. She digs her thumbs into the straps of her Pikachu backpack and gives Ben another assessing look before leaning over to whisper loudly in Rey’s ear. “You know, Reyby,” she says out of the side of her mouth, “I think this one might be even better in reality.” She frees one hand from the neon yellow canvas and wiggles her fingers at her friend. “Gimme the keys to the cart, and get going.” Rey obliges, fishing them out of the pocket of her cut offs.

“Will you be o—”

“I’ll be fine, Rey. This isn’t my first rodeo, ya know.”

Rey smiles at the way her friend deliberately mispronounces ‘rodeo,’ like it’s spelled ‘rod-AY-o.’ “Alright, alright, I’m going! _We’re_ going,” she corrects herself, crossing the paved stone to stand next to Ben. He shifts slightly closer to her, the movement so instinctive as to seem subconscious, and Rey can immediately feel the heat coming off of his body. She shoves her hand in her back pocket so as not grasp his impulsively. It’s there for the taking: fingers relaxed, arm extended. But Rey refuses to stoop to PDA in front of Rose, especially with a guy she barely knows.

“You,” Rose adds, her tone suddenly forceful as she jabs a finger at Ben. “Be a gentleman.” He bows his head in acquiescence and Rey is mesmerized by the movement of his long, layered hair. Rose turns to Rey, diving in for a surprise hug. “And you,” she whispers, quietly for once, “have _fun_.”

Rey hugs her friend back hard, and thanks her again for tending the cart. Business might be hectic today, and Rose is a real trooper for doing this for Rey.

Checking his intimidatingly large watch, which Rey can’t begin to tell time on, thanks to the lack of hour markers, Ben indicates that it’s time to go. They both wave over their shoulder as they walk away. True to form, Rose gets the last word in. She calls out, as they near the central fountain, “And don’t forget to use protection!!!!”

Rey feels herself turn beet red, and even Ben is stunned into silence for a second, before he starts to laugh, loudly. When his guffaws start to subside, he glances down at her and, without a word, weaves his fingers between hers.

Mind-reader.

***

Three hours, twelve blocks, and two bubble teas later (both Rey’s), Ben decides it’s time they caught their breath. They’ve done a mangled loop of Soho, missing his office (soon to be _their_ office, he thinks, then brushes that aside because he’s having too much fun to dwell on the consequences of his deception) by a single street.

They passed his mother’s place of work, RESISTANCE headquarters, ten minutes earlier, and Rey looked up at the building with a distinct display of recognition. Familiarity, even. But before Ben had time to pursue that troubling lead, Rey had whisked him off to her favorite gallery. It was open, and the air-conditioning was a blessed relief from the almost-summer heat, so they stepped inside to view the current exhibition— itself, a rare treat.

Rey has excellent taste in art, for someone who calls herself a philistine. But not every artist sees themself as one, Ben had to remind himself as he gazed at her profile, while she gazed at an intricate light installation. They spent forty minutes in the gallery alone, drinking in the blue light and letting themselves be dazed. As they left, Ben surreptitiously pulled out his phone and sent a quick note to his assistant, telling her to bid on a triptych to which he’d been drawn.

After the gallery, they walked another ten minutes, winding their way through the military map of the streets until they found themselves back in Washington Square. That’s when Ben started to think that Rey might need a break— and some sugar, to sustain her for the rest of their date.

It’s a pity about dinner. Ben had the best little bistro in mind for a romantic rendezvous, but when Rey told him she had to close shop, he dutifully let Phasma know to cancel the reservation.

 _Nevermind_. He’ll find a way to make it up to Rey.

They’re still holding hands when he slows to a stop. Rey stumbles a little, her shorter strides still catching up. Ben tightens his grip on her hand until she steadies, reluctantly loosening his hold on her a second later. His fingers ache to curl around hers, knot their palms together in permanent prayer. But it’s hot, and he doesn’t want her to think of him as that clingy giant with the sweaty hands. ‘Hot Stranger’ suits his ego much better.

_Not that he intends that the two of them will ever be strangers again._

The wave of possessiveness, the desire for something permanent, washes over Ben with overwhelming conviction. He likes Rey. Really likes Rey. He wants her hand in his hand, her body in his bed. He wants her dirty plates in his dishwasher, her laughter in his life.

“Ben?” A tug on his hand drags his thoughts down from the clouds. Rey’s staring up at him— inquisitive, yet trusting. Ben wants to cup her upturned face in his lands and press a kiss into the pillow of her lips. She’s wearing gloss again, and he wants to know what flavor.

“Rey.”

She quirks a curious smile in his direction, and Ben’s eyes are drawn to the corner of her mouth. If he bent his head down, he could lick the seam of her lips where they meet. “Did we stop in the middle of a crosswalk for any particular reason?”

Ben glances around, startled. “Ah, no. That was an accident.”

She laughs, like birdsong in Battery Park— audible only in the too-early hours of the morning, when his insomnia forces him to listen to the city’s silence— then tugs him along to the sidewalk, where she stops and turns to look at him, a question in her hazel eyes.

Gazing down at her upturned face, Ben wonders if he’d have trouble sleeping next to Rey. (Yes, but only because her unwitting beauty would keep him up at night, mesmerized.)

Ben is busy counting Rey’s eyelashes, when the tourist bumps into him from behind. He stumbles a step forward, crashing into Rey. Instinctively, his arms gather her safely to his chest as his feet find purchase on the sloping cement. Heat rises in him, some potent combination at arousal at their proximity— the press of her breasts against his pecs, the spread of his fingers across the small of her back— and anger at the asshole who endangered her. They are, after all, standing a half foot from the street— what if a cab had chosen that moment to pull in, what if a cyclist sped by at that precise second? Rey might have been hurt, and badly, too. All because of some tourist’s lack of etiquette.

But even as Ben turns to mouth off to the man in question, he realizes he’s been swept away by the crowd. The bustling mass of foreigners and frenzied New Yorkers, busily sidestepping Rey and Ben in their haste to enter the park and stand, slack-jawed in awe, beside the fountain or beneath the arch. Ben turns back to the woman in his arms— _still_ in his arms, even though it’s been a solid minute since their collision— but who could blame Ben, when Rey feels so _right_ in his embrace?

Rey smiles shyly up at him, perhaps having come to the same conclusion as Ben— certainly not protesting his prolonged hold… “Do you wanna get out of here?” She whispers, and Ben has to bow his head to hear her. Her lips brush the shell of his overlarge ear, “I know a place downtown…”

Ben inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering closed at the insinuation, the invitation, in her words. He nudges the crook of her neck with the tip of his crooked nose— not a kiss, not yet, but something close— and nods his consent. He’ll go wherever she goes. And do whatever she wants to do.

“Come on, then.” The command is so quiet, it’s lost in the clamor. But Ben feels her breath, fanning along his cheekbone, ruffling the curtain of his hair. And then he feels her teeth, nipping the lobe of his ear. Ben lifts his head to reciprocate, but she’s already pulling away— a gleeful glint in her green-ringed eyes.

Rey reaches for Ben’s hand, the one that’s splayed across her lower back, even as she spins out of his grip like a ballerina performing a surprise pirouette. Her necklace, a freshwater pearl on a short gold chain, slides against her neck, and she takes a moment to straighten it before tugging on his hand again. She slides her fingers between his, so that they interlock— an unbreakable lattice, linking him to her, lest one of them get carried away in the crowd.

_Like Ben would lose sight of Rey, a smiling beacon of sunlight…_

“Where are we going?” He manages, as she pulls him along, weaving in and out of the throng.

She glances back at him, a smile brimming on her lips, and says teasingly, “You’ll see…”

Ben swallows a laugh of pure, effortless glee. He’s giddy with the sensation, the feeling of being _free_. That’s how it is, to have given himself over to her completely. For the first time in god knows how long, Ben has no idea where he’s going or what he’s doing— all he knows is the woman he’s with, and even she’s got an air of mystery. And mischief. And an expression that occasionally reads, “shut the hell up already and make out with me.”

Not that Ben intends to limit himself to mere kisses, Rey consenting…

They walk in silence for ten minutes, Rey leading the way, winding her way from avenue to side street with practiced ease. Ben’s too busy musing, too mesmerized by the strands of gold the sun keeps picking up in her hair, to pay attention to where they’re going— he doesn’t even bother to look to either side when they jaywalk, trusting Rey to keep them safe from cabs and cars and cyclists. And she does, admirably.

In fact, Ben is so absorbed in the back view of his headstrong beauty that he nearly fails to notice when she’s stopped walking, and comes to another crashing halt— one that aligns her pert backside with his curious cock, pretty much perfectly.

“Oh!” She exhales, as his body thuds into hers. But instead of pulling away, she arches into him, grinding her ass against his groin. Rising to her tiptoes, Rey, catlike, rubs her head against Ben’s chest. Exposing her neck like a virgin in a vampire flick, she leans leisurely back to look at him.

Even though her face is upside down from his angle, Ben can see how heavy-lidded her eyes have grown. She’s gazing up at his lips, still parted slightly from the shock of their repeat sudden, full-body contact, with a hungry expression. Ben glances briefly at her warm hazel eyes, signaling her desire without speaking it, before his gaze is inevitably drawn back to her lips. She’s biting the lower one now— that’s when Ben decides to swoop in, a little awkwardly given the angle, for the kiss.

Rey responds immediately, surging into Ben, knocking him back a step so that he almost stumbles into the road. She tastes like cinnamon and sugar, like lipgloss and lust, and Ben groans with a desire he doesn’t dare put into words. Probably because he wouldn’t know which words to use, or how.

Evidently having had enough of this Peter Parker -esque position, Rey twists in Ben’s arms, even as they rise to enfold her in them. She breaks the kiss for a split second, flashes him a smile that’s blindingly bright, and stretches her arms to loop around his neck, before diving back in for seconds.

Their lips fit together more effortlessly now, not that Ben was complaining before. Tongues dart out and in, tunneling and tangling, and any need for oxygen is quickly forgotten. Ben’s hands are restless, roaming along Rey’s body, clutching her to him quite desperately; his fingers caress the the underside of her breasts, counting the barely-there ridges of her ribs; he palms the globes of her firm little ass and spans the bare skin between her shoulder-blades. When he cradles the back of her neck in one hand, his long fingers nearly wrap around to meet.

Rey’s ministrations are equally frantic, her flattened hands stealing first between jacket and shirt, and then slipping in the slots between shirt and skin. She traces his abs, like a washboard, and squeezes his ‘ceps so sweet Ben can’t help but flex. Rey pinches his ass cheek, even as she nibbles on his lower lip, the fiend, but her fingers’ favorite haunt by far is his hair. She fists his long locks, sifts his salon layers, runs the pads of her bent fingers along his scalp in a frantic massage. She moans when he gathers her close, and when he lifts her off the ground, she knots her fingers in the loose curls at the nape of his neck.

A cleared throat— rather, several, increasingly loud, clearings of a throat— tells them they have company. Reluctantly, Rey breaks the kiss, and slips back to the ground. Ben’s eyes roll back as her body slides along his, and he swallows a growl of irritation at the disruption, mingled with desperate arousal. Rey sighs wistfully, and Ben opens his eyes. Blinking, he takes a second to familiarize himself with their surroundings. Canal, and some tiny side street he’d never heard of. Glancing around, he locates the source of the unwelcome sound.

A tiny, wheeled stand sits on the curb beside a little park. And by little, Ben means the size of his guest bedroom. The owner of said stand is eyeing them with distaste, and Ben doesn’t blame him. He’s an elderly gentleman and he seems to have been enjoying the solitude (the park is empty, except for them). Less so, the show. Ben smiles sheepishly, and lets the hand that was cupping Rey’s left breast fall— although he keeps his other arm wrapped around her.

_He’s never letting go, now._

Rey’s smile is even more embarrassed, as if she knows this man. Sure enough— “I’m so sorry, Mr. Huang, I didn’t see you there…”

“You shouldn’t lie to your elders, Miss Niima.” The man levels her a frank, knowing stare. But it’s not without warmth, and within a few seconds of awkwardly held eye-contact, his weathered face softens into a smile. “What can I get you, Miss Niima?”

“Oh,” she grins, “the usual.” They laugh together at this, and Rey adds self-deprecatingly, “You know me, most boring girl in the world.”

Ben can’t allow that to go unchallenged, so he leans down to whisper in Rey’s ear, “Hardly…” She blushes, to his enormous satisfaction, but doesn’t wriggle out of his possessive grip.

“And you, young man? What can I get you?”

Ben blanches, having been to busy admiring Rey (and adjusting himself…) to actually look at the menu that hung above the counter. “Erm, I’ll have whatever she’s having, sir.” He adds the honorific on impulse, because it feels appropriate, and is rewarded by a respectful nod.

“Coming right up, as they say…” The old man disappears behind his stand, and Rey steps away from Ben, grabbing him by the hand.

“Let’s sit,” she says, and Ben misses the warmth of her already, “the park’s lovely, and Mr. Huang is obsessed with getting his steps in,” she taps her wrist to mime a fitness watch, “so he always insists on bringing me my order.”

Ben allows Rey to lead him to a bench, beside some overgrown irises. It’s old-fashioned and the wooden planks form quaint little curls at either end. The dark green paint is chipping, but it’s free of bird crap, and for that Ben is thankful. He’s not a vain man, but he has standards.

The sun is lowering to the horizon, and the air is unexpectedly chilly in this shadowy little park. Ben shrugs out of his jacket and offers it to Rey, who’s only wearing a knit tanktop, before she even has a chance to shiver. Shiver she does, however, as soon as the jacket envelopes her, lifting his lapel and inhaling deeply. Her smile could cure clinical depression, Ben thinks, and wonders if it would cure his.

(No, but he has Prozac for that.) And ice cream, apparently!

Rey gasps excitedly, looking over Ben’s shoulder in the direction of the cart. Ben turns and sees Mr. Huang, in a spotless apron, carrying two cones of soft-serve ice cream. It’s a grassy green…

“Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you!” She cries, leaping up— but taking care not to let Ben’s jacket fall in the process— to take one of the cones from the elderly man. Ben accepts the other, echoing Rey’s sentiment, although secretly questioning the cone’s contents.

“Rey, darling, if you reach into the inside pocket of my jacket you’ll find my wallet.” It’s slim, matte black leather, and only holds cards. (Any cash Ben collects goes directly into the hands of the nearest houseless person, obviously. And it’s NYC, so there are a lot of folks begging on the streets.) Rey successfully locates said wallet. “Hand Mr. Huang the sapphire one, sweetheart.”

She does as she’s told, sending Ben a grateful glance, and Ben feels a frisson of pleasure at the interaction. Rey’s so headstrong, so naughty at times— it feels _nice_ when she follows a command.

 _Interesting_ , Ben thinks. He’ll have to investigate this emerging kink further, later.

Ben’s card is returned without receipt, per his specifications, and his wallet is restored to its pocket in his jacket, which remains on Rey this entire time, to Ben’s satisfaction. Mr. Huang bids the both of them a good afternoon, winks at Ben (either because of the way his arm is wrapped around Rey, or in honor of the hefty tip he left), and makes some excuse about finding more customers on King St. They listen in silence to the creaking of the cart as the old man wheels it away, leaving them alone in the tiny, triangular square.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a two-parter! "After-Afternoon Delight" (unless I come up with a better title) is in the works and picks up where this leaves off. Expect sex.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first attempt at a plotted/long fic. please be patient with me as I figure out pacing, research, and the present tense. also, how to upload images to AO3..........?
> 
> anyway, leave a comment if you like!  
> you can now find me on twitter @/maenad9AO3


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